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ROBERTSON'S 

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LIVING THOUG^fe 



A THESAUEUS, 



By KERE BOYCE TUPPER 



WITH AN INTRODUCTION 



By prof. WILLIAM C. RICHARDS, Ph.D. 



31.7'?^ ■ 



CHICAGO: 
S. C. GRIGGS AND COMPANY. 

1881. 



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Copyright, 1881, 
By S. C. GRIGGS & COMPANY. 



[ KNIGHT R LEONARD \ 



DONOHUE & HENNEBERRY, BINDERS. 



TO MY WIFE, 

L. S. T., 



WHOSE SYMPATHETIC INTEREST IN THIS WORK ENHANCED NO 
LITTLE THE PLEASURES OF ITS PREPARATION, 

THE FOLLOWING PAGES ARE, WITHOUT HER KNOWLEDGE, 

MOST AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. 



PREFACE. 



The undiminished interest of the public in the chaste and elo- 
quent writings of Frederick W. Robertson, and his abiding and 
ever-increasing influence upon the theological thought of the 
present day, furnish the writer's plea for sending out this volume 
upon its humble mission. It has been prepared during the author's 
hours of leisure, when, laying aside for a season the more arduous 
duties of his profession, he has gone out in search of illustrations 
with which to freshen and make more attractive his pulpit efforts. 
In the wise and suggestive ideas of .this profound and original 
thinker there cannot fail to be discovered, by any earnest student, 
" a living source of impulse, a practical direction to thought, a key 
to many of the problems of theology, and, above all, a path to spir- 
itual freedom." Indeed, Robertson holds a unique position in the 
theological world. Whilst one may not agree with him in all the 
positions he assumes, nor sanction all the teachings he seeks to 
propagate, there is, nevertheless, in his works so much of true, gen. 
nine, evangelical sentiment, and that, too, from so warm, noble and 
sympathetic a heart, that all unprejudiced readers of his works feel 
attracted toward him, and all acknowledge, without reserve, the 
beneficent influence of his pulpit ministrations. His writings, so 
fascinating as literary productions, and so fragrant with the aroma 
of a gentle, Christ-like spirit, have, by their irresistible magnetism, 
won their way to many homes, and are to-day prized by thousands 
as the richest, choicest treasures of their libraries. 

In view of this popularity which Robertson's works have 
achieved, and the growing interest taken in them by scholars of 
every school of religious belief, it has seemed to the writer both 
proper and desirable that there should be a companion volume to 
his Sermons and Life and Lectures, in the form of a thesaurus of 
the best thoughts of this great man. It is scarcely necessary to 
remark that many rich gems to be found in the writings of this 

5 



6 PREFACE. 

popular author have received no place in this small volume, from 
the fact that the work was not designed, nor does it pretend, to be 
anything like a complete and exhaustive compilation of the truths 
he uttered. This must be sought alone in the original volumes, 
from which the following pages have been extracted. The present 
work claims to be simply a collection of what presented themselves 
to the compiler as among the most attractive and suggestive ideas 
of Robertson's highly cultured mind upon the most important sub- 
jects of which he treats in his writings now^ extant. Such a work, 
with a carefully prepared index, it was believed, would meet a felt 
need and find a circulation among a class of persons not inclined 
to possess the larger volumes of Sermons and Letters and Lectures. 

Under such an impression the writer gives to the public the 
result of his work in this direction. And may the precious truths 
contained in these pages lead the hearts of all who read them 
nearer to Him for whose glory and honor it is our delight to labor. 

K. B. T. 

Chicago, III., January 1, 1881. 



INTRODUCTION. 



There is still significance in the old and homely adage, " Good 
wine needs no bush," but it is hardly as true to-day as it was when 
there was less activity, less rivalry, in human affairs. The good — 
that which is of real worth — will, perhaps, make itself known and 
felt and valued even in these bus}^ and clamorous times, when the 
poor and the valueless are vaunted until they catch the roving eye 
and win the success and applause which belong only to the excel- 
lent. 

The writings of Frederick W. Robertson are known and ad- 
mired to-day by a select but limited class of readers, the most of 
whom remember them, probably, in the flush and aroma of their 
influence a quarter of a century ago. In the long interval — long 
for this telegraphic age — which has elapsed, they have cast, now 
and then and here and there, vivid reflections of their intense ear- 
nestness, of their fine spirit and of their vigorous style upon many 
thoughtful minds; and the hurly-burly of modern life, the quick — 
almost kaleidoscopic — changes of popular taste and feeling in 
literature, as in more fleeting things, the rapid multiplication of 
books, — not one nor all of these have yet availed to cast the cloud 
of oblivion over the life, the sermons and the letters of the brilliant 
young preacher of Brighton, who, had he lived, might well have 
become one of England's greatest pulpiteers, as, during his thirteen 
years of public ministry, he was a preacher remarkable for the 
power and practicalness, tlie breadth and brilliance, the fervor and 
spirituality, of his sermons and addresses. 

The book to which these few prefatory pages are almost a need- 
less introduction has a peculiar vindication, and justification indeed 
of its appearance at this time, in the decided tendenc}^ already re- 
ferred to, of highest values of the past becoming depreciated, and 
even obscured, by the multitude of new interests and objects which 
shine with a fresher lustre ; albeit it is that only of reflections from 
lights sunk below the horizon. 

7 



8 INTRODUCTIOIiq'. 

The English pulpit affords few examples of the conscientious, 
devoted and eminently able Christian minister, more worthy to be 
regarded and adopted as a model by theological students every- 
where, than that which the life and ministry of Robertson pre- 
sents. His life, viewed only in its literary and social aspects, might 
be regarded by some, perhaps, as scarcely deserving of elaborate 
memorials. We should, however, be loth to adopt this conclusion, 
for, from his boyhood to his early grave, his character was one of 
charming simplicity, earnestness and devotion to worthy and lofty 
ends. His spiritual life and writings are his real passport to the 
honored and perpetual remembrance of the Christian world; but 
in connection with these, if not independently of them, his is the 
life of one " who dwelt apart" from the multitude, and whose indi- 
viduality is beautiful and instructive. He was born in 1816, in 
London. His father was a captain in the royal artillery, and his 
three brothers, who all survived him, were also of the army. He 
outlived three beloved sisters. His education was the earnest care 
of his father, and both of his parents sedulously watched over his 
childhood; preserved him as far as possible from evil influences, 
and fostered in him virtuous feelings, a culture which his whole 
life richly rewarded. At his various schools he displayed his fond- 
ness for military and engineering studies, and all his youth and 
after life were marked by his great love of nature. Living, as he 
did during the years of his boyhood, at Leith, in the vicinity of 
romantic Edinburgh, he reveled in natural beauties and rural 
delights. He had a pleasing physique, and in his youth was more 
robust than in his advanced life, when deep thought and severe 
study had chastened his " iron strength " into refined grace. He 
loved poetry intensely, and his lectures on Wordsworth are vigor- 
ous, appreciative and philosophical. His natural piety — which 
was of a beautiful type — grew with his college life into spiritual 
perception and faith, and before he gave up the dream of his youth, 
of being a soldier of his country, he had become in earnest a soldier 
of the cross, and so was fitted for the great epoch in his life which 
witnessed his dedication to the ministry. During brief travejs 
on the continent he met, at Geneva, the daughter of an English 
baronet, who very soon became his wife; and his domestic hap- 
piness contributed to soothe and dissipate some glooms of tempera- 
ment resulting from his sensitiveness and conscientiousness acting 



INTRODUCTION. 9 

together to make his standard of devotion and duty one which he 
feared lest he should not reach. 

He prescribed for himself rigid rules of living, physical and 
mental, and his intellectual industries were incessant and excep- 
tionally brilliant in their results. An admirable talker, he was 
more popular than he cared to be in society, and to the day of his 
lamented death he held among his most intellectual friends the 
rank of a genius and the renown of a ripening scholar. 

His ministerial career was, in a sense, an enforced one, not 
enforced by position like that of a younger son in an aristocratic 
family (to whom, as is so often the case, the church alone opens 
a door for service and possible preferment), but constrained by his 
deep and irresistible convictions of duty, which his strong and 
persistent inclination to choose a military life did not override, and 
in obedience to which he surrendered his cherished wish, and even 
elaborate and advanced preparation for the India cavalry service. 
This enthusiasm for a soldier's career was early kindled in his 
bosom, and nourished at his father's fireside by the oft-recounted 
traditions of his famil}^, and it is not surprising that all his student 
life, on the continent, in Edinburgh, and at Brazenose, was flushed 
and characterized by a military spirit and yearning. This, at 
length, he so far subdued, or rather transformed, and translated into 
his spiritual being and experience, that he could have said with the 
great apostle Paul — much of whose spirit his life reflected — " The 
weapons of our warfare are not carnal but spiritual," and when his 
brief, bold work was ended — ''I have fought a good fight!" He 
became a captain of the hosts of the Lord, and fought manfully, 
heroically and self-sacrificingly the battles of righteousness with 
sin and wickedness in high places, and in low places no less! So 
strong was the soldier-passion in his nature that after he gave him- 
self to Christ and the church he cherished the desire to be an army 
chaplain, and all through his life, in the pulpit and on the plat- 
form, there was ever the ring of conflict — the battle-cry — in his 
clear, crisp utterances, undisguised by their persuasive eloquence of 
diction, and their depth of religious feeling and motive. 

What he once wrote to a friend was as true of his whole expe- 
rience as it was of his mood at the moment: "There is something 
of combativeness in me, which prevents the whole vigor being 
drawn out except when I have an antagonist to deal with, a false- 
hood to quell, or a wrong to avenge. Could I have chosen my own 



10 INTRODUCTION". 

period of the world to have lived in, and my own type of life, it 
should have been the feudal ages and the life of a Cid, the redressor 
of wrongs." The whole career of Robertson would be misinter- 
preted, or at least looked at in a partial if not false light, if this 
chivalric, which was yet not a belligerent, feature of both his in- 
tellectual and religious natures w^re overlooked. He was truly a 
hero, a knight not of any earthly insignia, but of the cross of his 
Redeemer and Saviour, and no candid reader of his terse and tren- 
chant utterances, with the added testimony of his self-denying 
life, can doubt that he carried in his bosom the true spirit of the 
martyrs, and was one himself really, if only in the self-crucifixion 
he underwent for his Master's sake. 

The reader of the valuable book we are heralding will not need 
our minute analysis of the diverse and subtle elements which made 
up his fine and forceful character. He will easily discover for him- 
self the secret of his unique power of fascination for friends and 
foes alike, in the uncompromising honesty and the fearless expres- 
sion of his opinions, and of Divine truth as he understood it, and 
these hallowed to almost superhuman tenderness by the fathomless 
depths of his sympathies. 

When it is considered that the whole life of this remarkable 
man was embraced in a period of less than four decades, and that 
for barely thirteen years was he at all conspicuous, secluding him- 
self studiously as much as possible even while he was at Oxford 
University, though never hiding there his positive and profound 
religious sentiments and beliefs, it will be conceded that he made 
and left an impression on his times, and on the English Established 
Church, especially, which can hardly be assumed for any other 
clergyman within her pale, whose life was rounded at yet early 
manhood. 

His chivalric spirit sometimes involved him in sharp, though 
on his part always generous, conflict witli churchwardens and dig- 
nitaries, and with other not altogether placable men. This was 
strikingly true of his first intimate relation to the workingmen of 
Brighton, over whom he gained, at last, a marvelous ascendency 
and influence; but only through their recognition of the fearless 
integrity of his spirit, the dauntless courage of his soul, and the 
true elevation and humanity of his aims and labors in their behalf. 
Many who at his early public lectures at the Mechanics' Institute 
would fain have hooted and silenced nim, became, if not his de- 



INTRODUCTION. 11 

voted friends and adherents, his honest and outspoken admirers 
and defenders. 

It was, doubtless, the military spirit living in his bosom still, 
and throbbing under the priestly vestments he wore, that made him 
in his sermons sometimes aggressive in thought, and apparently 
hostile in opinion to some of the rigid theological tenets to which 
his church and his ordination vows yet held him in bonds. It is 
needless here and at this late day to trace out the distinct lines of 
his deflection from the unqualified literalness and exactitude of the 
Thirty-nine Articles, which have been not infrequently a fasces 
holding some uncomfortable rods for the sensitive souls of deep 
and individual, though entirely conscientious and humble, thinkers 
such as he was. He preached sometimes beyond the easy compre- 
hension of dull orthodox minds, because he saw beyond the scope 
of common vision; and his so-called heresies are, we think, referable 
in the main to misapprehension on the part of creed-bound and 
error-seeking critics, rather than to any ultimate and vital defects or 
excesses in his theological views. His startling outspokenness was 
often only the result of his spirit of aggressiveness against religious 
views, sound in their formulas, but moribund in their practical 
influence upon those who entertained them and upon the outside 
world. Neither his warm heart nor his great intellect would bear 
dogmatic fetters in the pulpit. He agreed with Wordsworth, whom 
he honored and loved, in the sentiment 

"" We must be free or die, who speak the tongue 
That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold 
Which Milton held." 

And still more did he claim the freedom to speak as the Lord 
Christ's ambassador to men the "faith and morals" of His divine 
philosophy, as his conscience compelled him to do. 

He could not palter with his conscience in the pulpit, and there 
is an instance given, in Mr. Brook's able memoir of him, of his 
once carrying with him two sermons into the pulpit of a church, 
the congregation of which was made up chiefly of those of whom 
Pope says 

'* See how the world its veterans rewards, 
A youth of frolics, an old age of cards." 

In the vestry he selected the sermon he thought would be most con- 
genial to his auditors, the other having for its text the injunction 



12 INTRODUCTIOiq-. 

"Love not the world." But after the prayer-service his conscience 
smote him, and he thought he heard a voice saying, " Robertson, 
you are a craven; you dare not speak here what you believe." 
Whereupon he took the aggressive sermon from his pocket and 
preached it emphatically. This he related to a friend who, having 
accompanied him to the sei-vice, chided him for preaching so 
brusquely to a pleasure-loving congregation not his own. 

We have spoken of the Memoir of Robertson by the Rev. 
Stopford A. Brook, which was published in 1865. The two volumes 
contain a great number of his charming letters, than which there 
are few finer examples of epistolary excellence in English biog- 
raphy. His biographer allows him to draw his own mental por- 
traiture in these sparkling, elastic, unconstrained limnings thrown 
oflT like the free touches of a true artist. 

To these memoirs it is to be hoped that this volume of excerpts, 
collated with nice discrimination and admirable taste from his 
published sermons and lectures, as well as from his delightful 
letters, will carry many new readers with a force which shall over- 
come the hindrances of little leisure and scores of more modern 
biographies, yet not half so instructive, so stimulating and so satis- 
factory as his. From the collection of chosen passages in the fol- 
lowing pages the reader who can go no farther after their author 
may yet gain a just conception and form a distinct judgment of the 
intellectual, aesthetic and, above all, spiritual worth of his works. 
Here the classic motto is in full force, ''Expede^ Herculemy 

W. C. R. 

Chicago, III., January 10, 1881. 



ROBEUTSOFS LIVING THOUGHTS. 



ATONEMENT. 



The central doctrine of Christianity is the atonement. 
Take that away and you obliterate Christianit}^ If Christi- 
anity were merely the imitation of Christ, why, then, the 
imitation of any other good man — the Apostle Paul or 
John — might have become a kind of Christianity. If Chris- 
tianity were merely martyrdom for truth, then, with the 
exception of a certain amount of degree, I see no difference 
between the death of Socrates and the death of Jesus Christ. 
But Christianity is more than this. It is the At-one-ment 
of the Soul. It is a reconciliation which the life and death 
of Christ have wrought out for this world — the reconcilia- 
tion of man to God, the reconciliation of man to man, the 
reconciliation of man to self, and the reconciliation of man 
to duty. 

Estimate rightly the death of Christ. It was not simply 
the world's example — it was the world's Sacrifice. He died 
not merely as a martyr to the truth. His death is the 
world's life. Ask ye w^hat life is? Life is not exemption 
from penalty. Salvation is not escape from suffering and 
punishment. The Redeemer suffered punishment, but the 
Redeemer's soul had blessedness in the very midst of pun- 
ishment. 

The death of Christ was a representation of the life of 
God. To me this is the profoundest of all truths, that the 
whole of the life of God is the sacrifice of self. God is love ; 
love is sacrifice — to give rather than to receive — the bless- 
edness of self-giving. If the life of God were not such, it 
would be a falsehood to say that God is love; for even in 

13 



14 ROBERTSON'S LiyiN"G THOUGHTS. 

our human nature that which seeks to enjoy all instead of 
giving all is known by a very different name from that of 
love. All the life of God is a flow of this divine self-giving 
charity. Creation itself is sacrifice — the self-impartation 
of the Divine Being. Redemption, too, is sacrifice, else it 
could not be love; for which reason we will not surrender 
one iota of the truth that the death of Christ was the sacri- 
fice of God — the manifestation once in time of that which 
is the eternal law of His life. 

To bear pain for the sake of bearing it has in it no 
moral quality at all, but to bear it rather than surrender 
truth, or in order to save another, is positive enjoyment as 
well as ennobling to the soul. Did you ever receive even a 
blow meant for another, in order to shield that other? Do 
you not know that there was actual pleasure in the keen 
pain far beyond the most rapturous thrill of nerve which 
could be gained from pleasure in the midst of painlessness? 
Is not the mystic yearning of love expressed in words most 
purely thus, Let me suffer for him? 

This element of love is that which makes this doctrine 
an intellicrible and blessed truth. So sacrifice alone, bare 
and unrelieved, is ghastly, unnatural and dead; but self- 
sacrifice, illuminated by love, is warmth and life; it is the 
death of Christ, the life of God, the blessedness and only 
proper life of man. 

The sacrifice of Christ is done over again in every life 
which is lived not to self but to God. 

Through the atonement of the Redeemer man becomes 
reconciled to duty. There is no discord more terrible than 
that between man and duty. There are few of us who fancy 
we have found our own places in this world; our lives, our 
partnerships, our professions, and our trades, are not those 
which we should have chosen for ourselves. There is an 
ambition within us which sometimes makes us fancy we are 
fit for higher things — that we are adapted for other and 
better things than those to which we are called. But we 
turn again to the cross of Christ, and the mystery of life 
becomes plain. The life and death of Christ are the recon- 



ATONEMENT. 15 

ciliation of man to the duties which he has to do. You can- 
not study His marvelous life without perceiving that the 
whole of its details are uncongenial, mean, trivial, wretched 
circumstances, from which the spirit of a man revolts. 

Love demands a sacrifice, and only by sacrifice can it 
reconcile itself to self. Then it is that the sacrifice of 
Christ replies to this, answers it, satisfies it, and makes it 
plain. The sacrifice of Christ was suffering in love — it was 
surrender to the will of God. The Apostle Paul felt this: 
when that Spirit was with him he was reconciled to himself. 

There are two ways in which you may contemplate that 
sacrifice. Seen from the world's point of view, it is unjust, 
gross, cruel. Seen as John saw it, and as God looks at it, 
it was the sublimest of all truths; one which so entwines 
itself with our religious consciousness that you might as 
soon tear from us our very being as our convictions of the 
reality of Christ's atonement. 

ISTow observe this world of God's. The mountain-rock 
must have its surface rusted into putrescence and become 
dead soil before the herb can grow. The destruction of the 
mineral is the life of the vegetable. Again the same process 
begins. The " corn of wheat dies," and out of death more 
abundant life is born. Out of the soil in which deciduous 
leaves are buried the young tree shoots vigorously, and 
strikes its roots deep down into the realm of decay and 
death. Upon the life of the vegetable world the myriad 
forms of higher life sustain themselves — still the same 
law: the sacrifice of life to give life. Further still: have 
we never pondered over that mystery of nature, the dove 
struck down by the hawk, the deer trembling beneath the 
stroke of the lion, the winged fish falling into the jaws of 
the dolphin? It is the solemn law of vicarious sacrifice 
again. And as often as man sees his table covered with the 
flesh of animals slain does he behold, whether he think of it 
or not, the deep mystery and law of being. They have sur- 
rendered their innocent lives that he may live. 

Nay, further still: it is as impossible for man to live as 
it is for man to be redeemed, except through vicarious suf- 



16 ROBERTSON'S LIYIKG THOUGHTS. 

fering. The anguish of the mother is the condition of the 
child's life. His very being has its roots in the law of sacri- 
fice; and from his birth onward instinctively this becomes 
the law which rules his existence. There is no blessing 
which was ever enjoyed by man which did not come 
through this. There was never a country cleared for civili- 
zation, and purified of its swamps and forests, but the first 
settlers paid the penalty of that which their successors 
enjoy. There never was a victory won but the conquerors 
who took possession of the conquest passed over the bodies 
of the noblest slain, who died that they might win. 

Let no man say that Christ bore the wrath of God. Let 
no man say that God was angr}^ with His Son. We are 
sometimes told of a mysterious anguish which Christ en- 
dured, the consequence of Divine wrath, the sufferings of a 
heart laden with the conscience of the world's transgres- 
sions, which He was bearing as if they were His own sins. 
Do not add to the Bible what is not in the Bible. The Re- 
deemer's conscience was not bewildered to feel that as His 
own which was not His own. He suffered no wrath of God. 
Twice came the voice from heaven, " This is my beloved 
Son, in whom I am ivell pleased.'' There was seen an angel 
strengthening Him. Nay, even to the last, never did the 
consciousness of purity and the Father's love forsake Him. 
" Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit." 

The suffering of Christ was not the same suffering as 
that from which he saved us. The suffering of Christ was 
death. But the suffering from which He redeemed us by 
death was more terrible than death. The pit into which 
He descended was the grave. But the pit in which we 
should have been lost forever was the pit of selfishness and 
despair. 

How could the Father be satisfied with the death of 
Christ, unless He saw in the sacrifice mirrored His own 
love? — for God can be satisfied only with that which is 
perfect as Himself. Agony does not satisfy God — agony 
only satisfied Moloch. Nothing satisfies God but the volun- 
tary sacrifice of love. 



ATONEMENT. 17 

By the sacrifice of life, voluntary or involuntary, and by 
that alone, can other and higher life exist. The mineral 
soil gives its force to the grass, and the grass its life to the 
cattle, and they sacrifice theirs for man; all that is invol- 
untary, and of course there is in it nothing great or good. 
But voluntary acquiescence in and working with that mani- 
fested law or will of God is the very essence of human 
goodness. Is it not another name for Love? 

What could it be that suffered but a human soul? Deity 
is impassible. God was not angry with Him? God could 
not be angry with self-sacrificing love. He could not, with- 
out denying His own nature, annex Hell — that is, an evil 
conscience and remorse — to perfect goodness. Christ en- 
dured the penalty of imputed sin, the sins of others. But 
imputed sin is not actual sin, though constantly we see it 
bear the penalty of such — that is, be punished as such. 
'' The chastisement of our iniquities was upon him." It 
was not merely the " penalty of his own daring " that He 
bore. He bore the penalty of our transgressions. He 
crushed the head of the serpent, Evil, which would otherwise 
have crushed us, and the fang pierced Him. There is a paral- 
lel in the death of Socrates, so far as martyrdom goes; hut His 
death was sacrifice, not merely martyrdom; Socrates was 
simply true to his convictions, and suffered for them. He 
distinctly came that we might have life, and have it more 
abundantly. He alone, of all that are woman-born, con- 
ceived the idea of a contest with evil for the world's sake. 

The conceivableness of the atonement follows from the 
analogies drawn from nature's laws working in the wheat; 
but the proof of the atonement is the word of Christ Him- 
self. 

The sacrifice of Christ does not alter God's will: it does 
not make sin a trifle: it does not make it safer to commit 
offenses. It does not abrogate, but declares God's law. 

Reconciliation is identical with atonement. In Romans, 
V. 11, the word " atonement " occurs, but on referring to 
1* 



18 ROBERTSOl^'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

the margin you will find that it is the same word which is 
here translated " reconciliation." Here, therefore, you might 
read: ''Who hath atoned us to himself by Jesus Christ." 
We cannot repeat this too often. The " atonement " of the 
Bible is the reconciliation between God and man. 

Here is the mystery of the atonement. God is recon- 
ciled to men for Christ's sake. Earnestly I insist that the 
atonement is through Christ. God is reconciled to humanity 
in Christ; then to us through Him. "God was in Christ." 
It was a Divine humanity. To that humanity God is rec- 
onciled: there could be no enmity between God and Christ: 
" I and my Father are one." To all those m whom Christ's 
Spirit is, God imputes the righteousness which is as yet 
only seminal, germinal: a seed, not a tree; a spring, not ^ 
river; an aspiration, not an attainment; a righteousness in 
faith, not a righteousness in works. It is not, then, an act- 
ual righteousness, but an imputed righteousness. 

It was Christ's w^ork to reconcile God to man. That is 
done, and done forever; we cannot add anything to it. 
That is a priestly power; and it is at our peril that we claim 
such a power. Ours is ministerial: His alone was priestly. 
We cannot infuse supernatural virtue into baptismal water; 
we cannot transform bread and wine into heavenly aliment. 
We can offer no sacrifice: the concluding sacrifice is done. 
*' By one offering He hath perfected forever them that are 
sanctified." So far, then, as we represent anything besides 
this as necessanj, so far do we frustrate it, and turn the 
Christian ministry into a sacrificial priesthood. 

The pain of Christ gave God no pleasure — only the love 
that was tested by pain — the love of perfect obedience. He 
was obedient unto death. 

To SAY that He bore my sins in this sense — that he was 
haunted by an evil conscience and its horrors for this lie of 
mine, and that cruel word, etc., is to make a statement of 
which it is not enough to say that it is false: it is absolutely 
unmeaning, as well as destructive of all 7'eal conception of 
the enormity of sin. 



BIBLE. 19 



BAPTISM. 



Ablution in the East is almost a religious duty: the dust 
and heat weigh upon the spirits and heart like a load; the 
removal is refreshment and happiness. And it was impos- 
sible to see that significant act — in which the convert went 
down into the water, travel-worn and soiled with dust, dis- 
appeared for one moment, and then emerged pure and fresh 
— without feeling that the symbol answered to, and inter- 
preted a strong craving of the human heart. It is the 
desire to wash away that which is past and evil. We would 
fain go to another country and begin life afresh. We look 
upon the grave almost with complacency, from the fancy 
that there we shall lie down to sleep and wake fresh and 
new. It was this same longing that expressed itself in 
heathenism by the fabled river of forgetfulness, of which 
the dead must drink before they can enter into rest. 

Baptism is the visible declaration of this saying, *' Now, 
remember you are a child of God; from henceforth live as 
such." 

To mankind in the mass, invisible truths become real 
only when they have been made visible. All spiritual facts 
must have an existence in form for the human mind to rest 
on. This pledge is baptism. Baptism is a visible witness 
to the world of that which the world is forever forgetting. 
A common humanitv united in God. 



BIBLE. 

The words which came from Israel's prophets have been 
the life-blood of the world's devotions. The teachers, the 
psalmists, the prophets, and the law-givers of this despised 
nation spoke out truths that have struck the key-note of the 
heart of man; and this, not because they were of Jewish, 
but just because they were of universal application. 

This collection of books has been to the world what no 
other book has ever been to a nation. States have been 
founded on its principles. Kings rule by a compact based 
on it. Men hold the Bible in their hands when they prepare 



20 ROBERTSOK'S LIVII^G THOUGHTS. 

to give solemn evidence affecting life, death or property; 
the sick man is almost afraid to die unless the book be 
within reach of his hands; the battle-shi23 goes into action 
with one on board whose office is to expound it; its 
prayers, its psalms are the language which we use when we 
speak to God; eighteen centuries have found no holier, no 
diviner language. Tf ever there has been a prayer or a 
hymn enshrined in the heart of a nation, you are sure to 
find its basis in the Bible. There is no new religious idea 
given to the world but it is merely the development of 
something given in the Bible. The very translation of it 
has fixed language and settled the idioms of speech. Ger- 
many and England speak as they speak because the Bible 
was translated. It has made the most illiterate peasant 
more familiar with the history, customs and geography of 
ancient Palestine than with the localities of his own country. 
Men who know nothing of the Grampians, of Snowden, or of 
Skiddaw, are at home in Zion, the Lake of Gennesareth, or 
among the rills of Carmel. People who know little about 
London know by heart the places in Jerusalem where those 
blessed feet trod which were nailed to the cross. Men who 
know nothing of the architecture of a Christian cathedral 
can yet tell you all about the pattern of the holy temple. 
Even this shows us the influence of the Bible. The orator 
holds a thousand men for half an hour breathless — a thou- 
sand men as one, listening to his single word. But this 
Word of God has held a thousand nations for thrice a thou- 
sand years spell-bound; held them by an abiding power, 
even the universality of its truth; and we feel it to be no 
more a collection of books, but the book. 

Scripture is full of Christ. From Genesis to Eevelation 
every thing breathes of him — not every letter of every 
sentence, but the spirit of every chapter. It is full of Christ, 
but not in the way that some suppose; for there is nothing 
more miserable, as specimens of perverted ingenuity, than 
the attempts of certain commentators and preachers to find 
remote and recondite and intended allusions to Christ 
everywhere. For example, they chance to find in the con- 
struction of the temple the fusion of two metals, and this 
they conceive is meant to show the union of Divinity with 



BIBLE. 21 

Humanity in Christ. If they read of coverings to the taber- 
nacle, they find implied the doctrine of imputed righteous- 
ness. If it chance that one of the curtains of the tabernacle 
be red, they see in that the prophecy of the blood of Christ. 
If they are told that the kingdom of heaven is a pearl of 
great price, they will see it in the allusion that, as a pearl 
is the production of animal suffering, so the kingdom of 
heaven is produced by the sufferings of the Redeemer. 

It is the universal applicability of Scripture which has 
made the influence of the Bible universal: this book has 
held spell-bound the hearts of nations in a way in which 
no single book has ever held men before. 

The inspiration of the Bible is a large subject. I hold it 
to be inspired, not dictated. It is the Word of God — the 
words of man; as the former, perfect; as the latter, imper- 
fect. God the Spirit, as the Sanctifier, does not produce 
absolute perfection of human character; God the Spirit, as 
an Inspirer, does not produce absolute perfection of human 
knowledge; and for the same reason in both cases — the 
human element which is mixed up — else there could have 
been no progressive dispensations. Let us take the case — 
the history of the creation. Now, I hold that a spiritual 
revelation from God must involve scientific incorrectness: it 
could not be from God unless it did. Suppose that the cos- 
mogony had been given in terms which would satisfy our 
present scientific knowledge, or say, rather, the terms of 
absolute scientific truth: It is plain that, in this case, the 
men of that day would have rejected its authority; they 
would have said, " Here is a man who tells us the earth goes 
round the sun: and the sky, which we see to be a stereoma 
fixed and not far up, is infinite space, with no firmament at 
all, and so on. Can we trust one in matters unseen who is 
manifestly in error in things seen and level to the senses? 
Can we accept his revelation about God's nature and man's 
duty when he is wrong in things like these?" Thus, the 
faith of this and subsequent ages must have been purchased 
at the expense of the unbelief of all previous ages. I hold 
it, therefore, as a proof of inspiration of the Bible, and 
divinely wise, to have given a spiritual revelation, i. e., a 
revelation concerning the truths of the soul and its relation 



22 ROBERTSON'S LIYIKG THOUGHTS. 

« 

to God, in popular and incorrect language. Do not mistake 
that word incorrect: incorrect is one thing, false another. 
It is scientifically incorrect to say that the sun rose this 
morning; but it is not false, because it conveys all that is 
required, for the nonce, to be known about the fact, time, 
etc. And if God were giving a revelation in this present 
day. He would give it in modern phraseology, and the men 
He inspired would talk of sunrise, sunset, etc. Men of sci- 
ence smile at the futile attempts to reconcile Moses and 
geology. T give up the attempt at once, and say the inspira- 
tion of the Bible remains intact for all that — nay, it would 
not have been inspired except on this condition of incorrect- 
ness. 

BODY. 

We are fearfully and wonderfully made. Of that con- 
stitution which in our ignorance we call union of soul and 
body we know little respecting what is cause and what is 
effect. We would fain believe that the mind has power over 
the body, but it is just as true that the body rules the mind. 
Causes apparently the most trivial — a heated room, want 
of exercise, a sunless day, a northern aspect — will make all 
the difference between happiness and unhappiness, between 
faith and doubt, between courage and indecision. To our 
fancy there is something humiliating in being thus at the 
mercy of our animal organism. We w^ould fain find nobler 
causes for our emotions. We talk of the hiding of God's 
countenance, and the fiery darts of Satan. But the picture 
given here is true. The body is the channel of our noblest 
emotions as well as our sublimest sorrows. 

Some sins are committed without the body; sins of sen- 
suality and animal indulgence are against the body. Our 
bodies, which are " members of Christ," to be ruled by His 
Spirit, become by such sins unfit for immortality with 
Christ. This is an awful truth. Sins committed against the 
body affect that wondrous tissue which we call the nervous 
system: the source of all our acutest suffering and intensest 
blessing is rendered so susceptible by God as to be at once 
our punishment or reward. Sin carries with it its own 
punishment. There is not a sin of indulgence — gluttony, 



CHANGE. 23 

intemperance, or licentiousness of any form, which does not 
write its terrible retribution on our bodies. 

CHANGE. 

The world changes its complexion in every age. 

The child on whose young face the mother now gazes so 
tenderly changes with years into the man with furrowed 
brow and silvered hair; constitutions are formed and 
broken, friendships pass, love decays — who can say he pos- 
sesses the same now that blessed him in his early life? All 
passes whilst we look upon it. A most unreal, imaginative 
life. The spirit of life ever weaving — the spirit of death 
ever unweaving; all things putting on change. 

On this earth there can be no rest for man. By rest we 
mean the attainment of a state beyond which there can be 
no change. Politically, morally, spiritually, there can be no 
rest for man here. In one country alone has that system 
been fully carried out which, conservative of the past, ex- 
cludes all desire of progress and improvement for the 
future; but it is not to China that we should look for the 
perfection of human society. There is one ecclesiastical 
system which carries out the same spirit, looking rather to 
the Church of the past than to the Church of the future; but 
it is not in the Romish that we shall find the model of a 
Christian Church. In Paradise it may have been right to 
be at rest, to desire no change; but ever since the fall 
every system that tends to check the onward progress of 
mankind is fatally, radically, curelessly wrong. The motto 
on every Christian banner is '* Forward." There is no rest- 
ing in the present, no satisfaction in the past. 

Go to the side of the ocean which bounds our country, 
and watch the tide going out, bearing with it the sand 
which it has worn from the cliffs; the very boundaries of 
our land are changing; they are not the same as they were 
when these words were written. Every day new relation- 
ships are forming around us; new circumstances are calling 
upon us to act — to act manfully, firmly, decisively and up 



24 BOBERTSOi^'S LIVIKG THOUGHTS. 

to the occasion, remembering that an opportunity once gone 
is gone forever. Indulge not in vain regrets for the past, 
in vainer resolves for the future — act, act in the present. 

To mourn over old superstitions and effete creeds is just 
as unwise as is the grief of the mother mourning over the 
form which was once her child. She cannot separate her 
affection from that form — those hands, those limbs, those 
features, are they not her child? The true answer is, her 
child is not there: it is only the form of her child. And it 
is as unwise to mourn over the decay of those institutions 
— the change of human forms — as it was unwise in Jonah 
to mourn with that passionate sorrow over the decay of the 
gourd which had sheltered him from the heat of the noon- 
tide sun. A worm had eaten the root of the gourd, and it 
was gone. But He who made the gourd the shelter to the 
weary — the shadow of those who are oppressed by the 
noontide heat of life — lived on: Jonah's God. And so, 
brethren, all things change — all things outward change 
and alter, but the God of the Church lives on. 

This visible world is only a form and an appearance. 
God has written decay on all around us: on the hills, 
which are everlasting only in poetry, their outlines chang- 
ing within the memory of man; on the sea-coast, fringed 
with shingle. Look at it receding from our white cliffs; its 
boundaries are not what they were. This law is engraven 
on our own frames. Even in the infant the progress of dis- 
solution has visibly begun. The principle of development is 
at work, and development is but the necessary step toward 
decay. There is a Force at work in everything, call it what 
you will — Life or Death : it is reproduction out of decay. 
The outward form is in a perpetual flux and change. 

We stand amidst the ruins of other days, and as they 
moulder before our eyes they tell us of generations which 
have mouldered before them, and of nations which have 
crossed the theater of life and have disappeared. We join 
in the gladness of the baptism, and the years roll on so 
rapidly that we are almost startled to find ourselves stand- 
ing at the wedding. But pass on a few years more, and the 
young heart for which there was so much gladness in the 



CHARACTER. 25 

future has had its springs dried up. He belongs to a gen- 
eration which has passed, and they among whom he lingers 
feel as if he had lived too long; and then he drops silently 
into the grave to make way for others. One of our deepest 
thinkers — a man of profoundest observation, who thought 
by means of a boundless heart — has told us, in words trite 
and familiar to us all, 

"All the world's a stage, 
And all the men and women merely players : 
They have their exits and their entrances: 
And one man in his time plays many parts." 

Things are passing; our friends are dropping off from 
us; strength is giving way; our relish for earth is going, 
and the world no longer wears to our hearts the radiance 
that once it wore. We have the same sky above us and the 
same scenes around us; but the freshness that our hearts 
extracted from everything in boyhood, and the glory that 
seenijed to rest once on earth and life, have faded away for- 
ever: sad and gloomy truths to the man who is going down 
to the grave with his w^ork undone; not sad to the Christian, 
but rousing, exciting, invigorating. If it be the eleventh 
hour, we have no time for folding of the hands — we will 
work the faster. Through the changefulness of life; through 
the solemn tolling of the bell of time which tells us that 
another, and another, and another are gone before us; 
through the noiseless rush of a world which is going down 
with gigantic footsteps into nothingness, let not the Chris- 
tian slack his hand from w^ork, for he that doeth the will of 
God may defy hell itself to quench his immortality. 

CHARACTER. 

Shallow soil is like superficial character. You meet with 
such persons in life. There is nothing deep about them ; all 
they do and all they have is on the surface. The superficial 
servant's work is done, but lazily, partially — not thoroughly. 
The superficial workman's labor will not bear looking into, 
but it bears a showy outside. The very dress of such persons 
betrays the slatternly, incomplete character of their minds. 
When religion comes in contact with persons of this stamp 
2 



26 robertsok's living thoughts. 

it shares the fate of everything else. It is taken up in a 
superficial way. 

Affectio:s^ateness, maidenly self-possession and a quiet 
spirit, are more likely to bud into a beautiful character 
hereafter than that impetuosity of sentiment which too 
often makes life the prey of wdld and self-destructive pas- 
sions. Principle is a higher thing than feeling, and will 
stand life's terrible test far better. 

There are two sides to our character: one so evil, fallen, 
strengthless, that at times it is on the brink of hell; and 
one which is risen with Christ, redeemed in His resurrec- 
tion, w^iich seeks the things that are above, not those that 
are below; which brings us sometimes to the very verge of 
heaven; which makes us almost feel that the breath of God 
is breathing upon us, and that we hear the harpings of the 
everlasting harps. The true Christian spirit is one of min- 
gled loftiness and humility — of majesty and abasement — 
now with the stride of a conqueror and a king — now a cap- 
tive, wdth the foot of the conqueror on his neck. Let us 
recognize our two selves; be humble for our evil self, but 
be thankful for our diviner self; and not, through affected 
modesty, ignore the blessed fact that God is with us. ^' Of 
such an one will I glory, but of myself I will not glory." 

There is a certain mysterious tact of sympathy and 
antipathy by which we discover the like and unlike of our- 
selves in others' character. You cannot find out a man's 
opinions unless he chooses to express them ; but his feelings 
and his character you may. He cannot hide them: you 
feel them in his look and mien, and tones and motion. 
There is, for instance, a certain something in sincerity and 
reality which cannot be mistaken — a certain something in 
real grief which the most artistic counterfeit cannot imi- 
tate. It is distinguished by nature, not education. There 
is a something in an impure heart which purity detects afar 
ofi". Marvelous it is how innocence perceives the approach 
of evil which it cannot know by experience: just as the dove 
which has never seen a falcon trembles by instinct at its 
approach; just as a blind man detects by finer sensitiveness 



CHARACTER. 27 

the passing of the cloud which he cannot see overshadow- 
inof the sun. It is wondrous how the truer we become the 
more unerringly we know the ring of truth, discern whether 
a man be true or not, and can fasten at once upon the rising 
lie in word and look, and dissembling act. Wondrous how 
the charity of Christ in the heart finely perceives the slight- 
est aberration from charity in others, in ungentle thought 
or slanderous tone. 

The worldly-wise have maxims and rules; but the finer 
shades and delicacies of truth of character escape them. 

Composure is very often the highest result of strength. 
Did we never see a man receive a flagrant insult, and only 
grow a little pale and then reply quietly? That was a 
man spiritually strong. Or did we never see a man in 
anguish stand, as if carved out of solid rock, mastering him- 
self ? or one bearing a hopeless daily trial remain silent, 
and never tell the world what it was that cankered his 
home-peace? That is strength. He who with strong pas- 
sions remains chaste; he who, keenly sensitive, with manly 
power of indignation in him, can be provoked and yet re- 
frain himself, and forgive; — these are strong men, spiritual 
heroes. 

Observe, however, to distinguish between the act and 
the actor: It is not the thing done, but the doer who lasts. 
The thing done often is a failure. The cup given in the 
name of Christ may be given to one unworthy of it; but 
think ye that the love with which it was given has passed 
away? Has it not printed itself indelibly in the character 
by the very act of giving? Bless, and if the Son of peace 
be there, your act succeeds; but if not, your blessing shall 
return unto you again. In other words, the act may fail, 
but the doer of it abideth forever. 

Men of thought and quiet contemplation exercise a 
wonderful influence over men of action. We admire that 
which we are not ourselves. The man of business owns the 
control of the man of reli^rious thoug^htfulness. Like coa- 
lesces in this world with unlike. The strong and the weak, 



28 ROBERTSON'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

the contemplative and the active, bind themselves together. 
They are necessary for each other. The active soldiers and 
the scheming publicans came to the lonely, ascetic John to 
hear something of that still, inner life, of which their own 
career could tell them nothing. 

Love begets love ; faith generates faith ; lofty lives nour- 
ish the germs of exalted life in others. There is a spiritual 
birth. John was the successor of the spirit of Elias. Lu- 
ther was the offspring of the mind of Paul. We are chil- 
dren of Abraham if we share in the faith of Abraham; we 
are the successors of the Apostles if we have a spirit similar 
to theirs. 

There are things precious, not from the materials of 
which they are made, but from the risk and difficulty of 
bringing them to perfection. The speculum of the largest 
telescope foils the optician's skill in casting. Too much or 
too little heat — the interposition of a grain of sand, a slight 
alteration in the temperature of the weather, and all goes 
to pieces — it must be recast. Therefore, when successfully 
finished, it is a matter for almost the congratulation of a 
country. Rarer, and more difficult still than the costliest 
part of the most delicate of instruments, is the completion 
of Christian character. Only let there come the heat of 
persecution, or the cold of human desertion, a little of the 
world's dust, and the rare and costly thing is cracked, and 
becomes a failure. 

For it is a strange and mournful truth, that the quali- 
ties which enable men to shine are exactly those which 
minister to the worst ruin. God's highest gifts — talent, 
beauty, feeling, imagination, power: they carry with them 
the possibility of the highest heaven and the lowest hell. 
Be sure that it is by that which is highest in you that you 
may be lost. It is the awful warning, and not the excuse 
of evil, that the light which leads astray is light from 
heaven. The shallow fishing-boat glides safely over the 
reefs where the noble bark strands: it is the very might 
and majesty of her career that bury the sharp rock deeper 
in her bosom. 



CHARACTER. 29 

There is something almost awful in the thought of a 
man who was so thoroughly in the next world that he 
needed not the consolations of this world. And yet, ob- 
serve, there is nothing encouraging for us in this. It is 
very grand to look upon, very commanding, very full of 
awe; but it is so much above us, so little like anything 
human that we know of, that we content ourselves with 
gazing on him as on the gliding swallow's flight, which we 
wonder at, but never think of imitating. 

Blemished character damages evidence. 

The tinsel must be seen at a distance, or it will be dis- 
covered to be counterfeit. We may gaze on goodness, and 
the more we gaze the more it shines; like the sunlight, no 
less pure and beautiful when it brightens the wayside this- 
tle than when it glistens on the emeralds and the diamonds 
of a princely diadem. 

Learn to be neither depressed unduly by blame, nor, on 
the other side, to be too much exalted by praise. Life's 
experience should teach us this. Even in war honors fall 
as by chance, with cruel and ludicrous injustice; often the 
hero whom the populace worship is only made so by acci- 
dent. Often the coronet falls on brows that least deserve it. 

Say what you will, it is not interest, but the sight of 
noble qualities and true sacrifice, which commands the devo- 
tion of the world. Yea, even the bandit and the outcast 
will bend before that as before a Divine thing. In one form* 
or another it draws all men, it commands all men. 

Feelings pass, thoughts and imaginations pass; dreams 
pass; work remains. Through eternity, what you have done, 
that you are. They tell us that not a sound has ever ceased 
to vibrate through space; that not a ripple has ever been 
lost upon the ocean. Much more is it true that not a true 
thought, nor a pure resolve, nor a loving act, has ever gone 
forth in vain. 

Christ is Deity, under the limitations of humanity. But 
there is presented in Christ for worship, not power nor 



30 ROBERTSOI^'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

beauty, nor physical life but the moral image of God's per- 
fections. Through the heart and mind and character of 
Jesus it was that the Divinest streamed. Divine character^ 
that was given in Christ to worship. 

The weak mind throws the blame on circumstances; un- 
able itself to subdue its own passions, it imagines there is 
some law in the universe that so ordains it; insists that the 
blame is on circumstances and destiny. 

Should any of you have to bear attacks on your charac- 
ter, or life, or doctrine, defend yourself with meekness; and 
if defense should but make matters worse — and when accu- 
sations are vague, as is the case but too often, — why, then 
commit yourself fully to the truth. Outpray, outpreach, 
outlive the calumny. 

There is no principle in education and in life more sure 
than this — to stigmatize is to ruin; to take away character 
is to take away all. There is no power committed to man, 
capable of use and abuse, more certain and more awful than 
this: " Whose soever sins ye remit, they are remitted unto 
them." 

How often, after speaking hastily the thought which was 
uppermost, and feeling the cheek burn, you have looked 
back in admiration on some one who held his tongue even 
though under great provocation to speak. 

Every sin you slay — the spirit of that sin passes into 
you transformed into strength; every passion, not merely 
kept in abeyance by asceticism, but subdued by a higher 
impulse, is so much character strengthened. 

Circumstances of outward condition are not the sole effi- 
cients in the production of character, but they are efficients 
which must not be ignored. Favorable condition will not 
produce excellence, but the want of it often hinders excel- 
lence. 

The fact is, we have one thing, and only one, to do here 
on earth — to win the character of heaven before we die. 



CHARITY. 31 

This is practical, and simple to understand. We cannot do 
it alone; but the Spirit's agency is given us, under our pres- 
ent dispensation, to mould us by His influences into the im- 
age of God. 

To be humble and loving — that is true life. Do not let 
insult harden you, nor cruelty rob you of tenderness. If 
men wound your heart, let them not embitter it; and then 
yours will be the victory of the Cross. You will conquer as 
Christ conquered, and bless as He blessed. 

CHARITY. 

There are some who go through life complaining of this 
world: they say they have found nothing but treachery and 
deceit; the poor are ungrateful, and the rich are selfish. 
Yet we do not find such the best men. Experience tells us 
that each man most keenly and unerringly detects in others 
the vice with which he is most familiar himself. 

Oh, that miserable state, when to the jaundiced eye all 
good transforms itself into evil, and the very instruments 
of health become the poison of disease! Beware of every 
approach of this! beware of that spirit which controversy 
fosters, of watching only for the evil in the character of an 
antagonist! beware of that habit which becomes the slan- 
derer's life, of magnifying every speck of evil and closing 
the eye to goodness! till at last men arrive at the state in 
which generous, universal love (which is heaven) becomes 
impossible, and a suspicious, univejsal hate takes possession 
of the heart, and that is hell! 

The man who can be most charitable is not the man who 
is himself most lax. Deep knowledge of human nature 
tells us it is exactly the reverse. He who shows the rough 
and thorny road to heaven is he who treads the primrose 
path himself. 

Where is the professional man, secular or clerical, who 
will so speak of another of the same profession, while strug- 
gling with him in honorable rivalry, or so assist him, as to 



32 Robertson's living thoughts. 

insure that the brightest lustre shall shine upon what he 
really is? 

Eemember, there may be true liberality when a man 
gives nothing to religious societies. Suppose he spends his 
money in employing labor wisely, suppose he gives good 
wages, suppose he invests capital in enterprises which call 
out the highest qualities — then such a man, although 
directly giving nothing, indirectly gives much, and is char- 
itable in the true sense of the word. 

He who is most liberal in the case of a foreign famine or 
a distant mission will be found to have only learned more 
liberal love toward the poor and the unspiritualized of his 
own land. 

Do right, and God's recompense to you will be the power 
of doing more right. Give, and God's reward to you will 
be the spirit of giving more — a blessed spirit, for it is the 
Spirit of God Himself, whose life is the blessedness of giving. 
Love, and God will pay you with the capacity of more love; 
for love is Heaven — love is God within you. 

Oh, be sure that he whose soul has anchored itself to rest 
on the deep, calm sea of truth does not spend his strength 
in raving against those who are still tossed by the winds of 
error. Spasmodic violence of words is one thing, strength 
of conviction is another. 

KixDLY words, sympathizing attentions, watchfulness 
against wounding men's sensitiveness — these cost very 
little, but they are priceless in their value. Are they not, 
brethren, almost the staple of our daily happiness? From 
hour to hour, from moment to moment, we are supported, 
blest, by small kindnesses. 

In order to elevate Christianity it is not necessary to 
vilify heathenism. 

Plainly, it is not the value of the contribution, but the 
love of the contributor, which makes it precious. The offer- 



CHILDHOOD. 83 

ing is sanctified or made unholy in God's sight by the spirit 
in which it is given. The most striking passage in which 
this truth is illustrated is that of the widow's mite. Tried 
by the gauge of the treasurer of a charity, it was next to 
nothinor. Tried bv the test of charitv, it was more than that 
of all. Her coins, worthless in the eyes of the rich Pharisee, 
were in the eyes of Christ transformed by her love into the 
gold of the Eternal City. 

The charity which desires another's goodness above his 
well-being, that alone succeeds in the work of restoration. 

Nothing chills the heart like universal distrust. Nothing 
freezes the genial current of the soul so much as doubts of 
human nature. 

But do not hate men in intellectual error. To hate a 
man for his errors is as unwise as to hate one whcf, in cast- 
ing up an account, has made an error against himself. 

How possible it is to mix together the vigor of a mascu- 
line and manly intellect with the tenderness and charity 
which is taught by the Gospel of Christ. No man ever 
breathed so freely when on earth the air and atmosphere of 
heaven as the Apostle Paul — no man ever soared so high 
above all prejudices, narrowness, littlenesses, scruples, as he; 
and yet no man ever bound himself as Paul bound himself 
to the ignorance, the scruples, the prejudices of his breth- 
ren. So that what in other cases was infirmity, imbecility 
and superstition, gathered around it in his case the pure, 
high spirit of Christian charity and Christian delicacy. 

CHILDHOOD. 

Stronger far than education — going on before education 
can commence, possibly from the very first moments of con- 
sciousness, we begin to impress ourselves on our children. 
Our character, voice, features, qualities — modified, no doubt, 
by entering into a new human being, and into a different 
organization — are impressed upon our children. Not the 
inculcation of opinions, but much rather the formation of 



34 Robertson's living thoughts. 

principles, and of the tone of character, the derivation of 
qualities. Physiologists tell us of the derivation of the 
mental qualities from the father and of the moral from the 
mother. But be this as it may, there is scarcely one here 
who cannot trace back his present religious character to 
some impression, in early life, from one or other of his 
parents, — a tone, a look, a word, a habit, or even, it may be, 
a bitter, miserable exclamation of remorse. 

Innocent, literally, no man ever is. We come into the 
world with tendencies to evil; but there was a time in our 
lives when those were only tendencies. A pronenesS to sin 
we had; but we had not yet sinned. The moment had not 
yet arrived when that cloud settles down upon the heart, 
which in all of after-life is never entirely removed: the 
sense of guilt, the anguish of lost innocence, the restless 
feeling of a heart no longer pure. 

It is a very deep and beautiful and precious truth that 
the Eternal Son had a human and progressive childhood. 
Happy the child w^io is suffered to be and content to be 
what God meant it to be — a child while childhood lasts. 
Happy the parent who does not force artificial manners, 
precocious feeling, premature religion. 

CHRIST. 

The Bible is full of Christ. Every unfulfilled aspiration 
of humanity in the. past; all partial representation of per- 
fect character; all sacrifices — nay, even those of idolatry — 
point to the fulfillment of what we want, the answer to 
every longing — the type of perfect humanity, the Lord 
Jesus Christ. 

Christ w^as the Son of God. But remember in what 
sense He ever used this name — Son of God because Son of 
Man. He claims Sonship in virtue of His Humanity. Now, 
in the whole previous revelation through the prophets, 
etc., one thing was implied — only through man can God be 
known: only through a perfect man, perfectly revealed. 
Hence He came, " the brightness of His Father's glory, the 



CHRIST. 35 

express image of His person/' Christ, then, must be loved as 
Son of man before He can be adored as Son of God. In 
"personal love and adoration of Christ the Christian religion 
consists, not in correct morality, or in correct doctrines, but 
in a homage to the King. 

Now, unquestionably, the belief in the Divinity of Christ 
is waning among us. They who hold it have petrified rt 
into a theological dogma without life or w^armth, and 
thoughtful men are more and more beginning to put it 
aside. How are we, then, to get back this belief in the Son 
of God? by authority, or by the old way of persecution? 
The time for these has passed. The other way is to begin 
at the beginning. Begin as the Bible begins, with Christ 
the Son of Man. Begin with Him as God's character 
I'evealed under the limitations of humanity. Lay the foun- 
dations of a higher faith deeply in a belief of his Humanity. 
See Him as He was. Breathe His Spirit. After that, try to 
comprehend His Life. Enter into his Childhood. Feel with 
Him when He looked round about Him in anger, when He 
vindicated the crushed woman from the powerless venom of 
her ferocious accusers; when He stood alone in the solitary 
Majesty of Truth in Pilate's judgment-hall; when the light 
of the Roman soldiers' torches flashed on Kedron in the 
dark night, and He knew that watching was too late; when 
His heart-strings gave way upon the Cross. Walk with 
Him through the Marriage Feast. See how the sick and 
weary came to Him instinctively; how men, when they saw 
Him, felt their sin, they knew not why. and fell at His feet; 
how guilt unconsciously revealed itself, and all that was good 
In men was drawn out, and they became higher than them- 
selves in His presence. Realize this. Live with Him till 
He becomes a living thought, ever present, and you will 
find a reverence growing up which compares with nothing 
else in human feeling. You will feel that a slighting word 
spoken of him wounds with a dart more sharp than per- 
sonal insult. You will feel that to bow at the name of 
Jesus is no form at will of others, but a relief and welcome. 
And if it should ever chance that, finding yourself thrown 
upon your own self and cut off from sects — suspected, in 
quest of a truth which no man gives — then that wondrous 
sense of strength and friendship comes — the being alone 



36 Robertson's livii^q thoughts. 

with Christ with the strength of a manlier independence. 
Slowly, then, this almost insensibly merges into adoration. 
For what is it to adore Christ? — to call Him God: to say 
Lord, Lord? No. Adoration is the mightiest love the soul 
can give, call it by what name you will. 

And such was the work of Christ. They saw him at work 
among the fragments and mouldering wreck of our humanity, 
and sneered. But He took the dry bones, such as Ezekiel 
saw in vision, which no man thought could live, and he 
breathed into them the breath of life. He took the scat- 
tered fragments of our ruined nature, interpreted their 
meaning, showed the original intent of those powers which 
were now destructive only, drew out from publicans and 
sinners yearnings which were incomprehensible, and feel- 
ings which were misunderstood, vindicated the beauty of 
the original intention, showed the Divine Order below the 
chaos, exhibited to the world once more a human soul in the 
form in which God had made it, saving to the dry bones 
*'Live!" 

Oh, be sure all the universe tells of Christ and leads to 
Christ. The stars preach the mind of Christ. Not as of 
old when a mystic star guided their feet to Bethlehem, but 
now, to the mind of the astronomer, they tell of eternal 
order and harmony; they speak of changeless law, where 
no caprice reigns. You may calculate the star's return, 
and to the day and hour and minute it will be there. This 
is the fidelity of God. These mute masses obey the law 
impressed upon them by their Creator's hand unconsciously, 
and that law is the law of their own nature. To under- 
stand the laws of our nature, and consciously and reverently 
to obey them, that is the mind of Christ, the sublimest 
spirit of the Gospel. 

There is no disappointment in Christ. Christ can be our 
souls' sovereign. Christ can be our guide. Christ can 
absorb all the admiration which our hearts long to give. 

Jesus of Nazareth is the central point in which all the 
cojiverging lines of Scripture meet. 



CHRIST. 87 

What the word is to the thought, that is Christ to God. 
Creation was one expression of this — of His inmost feelings 
of beauty and loveliness; whether it be the doleful sig'hings 
of the night wind, or the flower that nestles in the grass, 
they tell alike of love. So has He also shown that love on 
earth, in the outward manifestation of the lif^ of Christ, 
not only in the translated Word which we have, beautiful 
as it is, but in the living Word. Read without this, history 
is a dark, tangled web, philosophy a disappointing thing. 
Without this light society is imperfect, and the greatest men 
small and insignificant. From all these we turn to Christ; 
here is that perfect Word to which our hearts echo, where 
no one syllable is wrong. 

The infinite sis^nificance of the life of Christ is not ex- 
hausted by saying that He was a perfect man. The notion 
of the earlier Socinians that He was a pattern man, com- 
missioned from Heaven with a message to teach men how 
to live, and supernaturally empowered to live in that per- 
fect way Himself, is immeasurably short of truth. For 
perfection merely human does not attract; rather it repels. 
It may be copied in form: it cannot be imitated in spirit; 
for men only imitate that from which enthusiasm and life 
are caught, for it does not inspire nor fire with love. 

Faultless men and pattern children — you may admire 
them, but you admire coldly. Praise them as you will, no 
one is better for their example. No one blames them, and 
no one loves them. They kindle no enthusiasm ; they create 
no likeness of themselves; they never reproduce themselves 
in other lives — the true prerogative of all original life. 

If Christ had been only a faultless being. He would 
never have set up in the world a new type of character 
which, at the end of two thousand years, is fresh and life- 
giving and inspiring still. He never would have regener- 
ated the world. He never would have " drawn all men unto 
Him " by being lifted up a self-sacrifice, making self-devo- 
tion beautiful. In Christ the Divine and human blended: 
immutability joined itself to mutability. There was in 
Him the Divine which remained fixed; the human which 
was constantly developing. One uniform idea and purpose 
characterized His whole life with a Divine immutable unity 



38 Robertson's livi^stg thoughts. 

throughout, but it was subject to the laws of human growth. 
For the soul of Christ was not cast down upon this world a 
perfect thing at once. Spotless? — yes. Faultless? — yes. 
Tempted, yet in all points without sin? — yes. Bat per- 
fection is more than faultlessness. All Scripture coincides 
in telling us that the ripe perfection of His manhood was 
reached step by step. There was a power and a life within 
Him which were to be developed, which could only be devel- 
oped, like all human strength and goodness, by toil of brain 
and heart. Life up-hill all the way; and every foot-print 
by which He climbed left behind for us, petrified on the 
hard rock, and indurated into history forever, to show us 
when and where and how He toiled and won. 

When a man has learned to know the infinite love of 
God in Christ to him, then he discovers something which 
will not elude his hold, and an affection which will not 
grow cold; for the comparison of God's long-suffering and 
repeated pardon with his own heartless ingratitude con- 
vinces him that it is an unchangeable love. 

It is the heart alone which can give us a key to His 
words. Recollect how He taught. By metaphors, by im- 
ages, by illustrations, boldly figurative, in rich variety — 
yes, in daring abundance. He calls Himself a gate, a king, 
a vine, a shepherd, a thief in the night. In every one of 
these He appeals to certain feelings and associations. What 
He says can only be interpreted by such associations. They 
must be understood by a living heart; a cold, clear intellect 
will make nothing of them. If you take those glorious ex- 
pressions, pregnant with almost boundless thought, and lay 
them down as so many articles of rigid, stiff theology, you 
turn life into death. It is just as if a chemist were to ana- 
lyze a fruit or a flower, and then imagine that he had told 
you what a fruit and a flower are. He separates them into 
their elements, names and numbers them; but those ele- 
ments, weighed, measured, numbered in the exact propor- 
tions that made up the beautiful living thing, are not the 
living thing — no, nor anything like it. Your science is 
very profound, no doubt; but the fruit is crushed and the 
grace of the flower is gone. 



CHRIST. 39 

Water cannot coalesce with fire — water cannot mix with 
oil. If, then, humanity and divinity were united in the 
person of the Redeemer, it follows that there must be some- 
thing kindred between the two, or else the Incarnation had 
been impossible. So that the Incarnation is the realization 
of man's perfection. 

Now this is the universality of the nature of Jesus Christ. 
There was in Him no national peculiarity nor individual idio- 
syncrasy. He was not the Son of the Jew, nor the Son of 
the carpenter; nor the offspring of the modes of living and 
thinking of that particular centur^^ He was the Son of 
Man. Once in the world's history was born a Max. Once 
in the roll of ages, out of innumerable failures, from the 
stock of human nature, one bud developed itself into a fault- 
less flower. 

The Redeemer not only was, but is, man. He teas tempted 
in all points like us. He is a high priest which can be 
touched. Our conceptions on this subject, from being vague, 
are often very erroneous. It is fancied that in the history 
of Jesus' existence, once, for a limited period and for definite 
purposes. He took part in frail humanity; but that when 
that purpose was accomplished, the Man forever perished, 
and the Spirit reascended, to unite again with pure unmixed 
Deity. But Scripture has taken peculiar pains to give as- 
surance of the continuance of His humanity. It has care- 
fully recorded His resurrection. After that He passed 
through space from spot to spot; when He was in one place 
He was not in another. His body was sustained by the 
ordinary aliments — broiled fish and honeycomb. The prints 
of suffering were on Him. His recognitions were human 
still. Thomas and Peter were especialh' reminded of inci- 
dents before His death, and connected with His living inter- 
ests. To Thomas He sa3^s, ** Reach hither thy hand." To 
Peter, " Lovest thou me? " 

And this typifies to us a very grand and important truth. 
It is this, if I may venture so to express myself — the truth 
of the human heart of God. We think of God as a Spirit, 
infinitely removed from and unlike the creatures He has 
made. But the truth is, man resembles God : all spirits, all 



40 Robertson's Liyi:N^G thoughts. 

minds, are of the same family. The Father bears a likeness 
to the Son whom He has created. The mind of God is simi- 
lar to the mind of man. Love does not mean one thing in 
man, and another thing in God. 

There is a vague way of speaking of the Atonement, 
which does not realize the tender, affectionate, personal love 
by which that daily, hourly reconciliation is effected. The 
sympathy of Christ was not merely love of men in masses: 
He loved the masses, but he loved them because made up of 
individuals. He "had compassion on the multitude''; but 
He had also discriminating, special tenderness for erring 
Peter and erring Thomas. He felt for the despised lonely 
Zaccheus in his sycamore-tree. He compassionated the dis- 
comfort of His disciples. He mixed His tears with the 
stifled sobs by the grave of Lazarus. He called the abashed 
children to His side. Amonsf the numbers, as He walked, 
He detected the individual touch of faith. '* Master, the 
multitude throng thee, and sayest thou, Who touched me?" 
— " Somebody hath touched me." 

There is but One, He in whom humanity was completely 
restored to the Divine image. Whose forgiveness and con- 
demnation are exactly commensurate with God's. 

Is it not true that the world's outcasts may be led by 
their very sin to Christ? It is no wonder to see a sad- 
dened sinner seeking in the disappointment and weariness 
of solitary age that which he rejected in the heat of youth. 
Why, even the world is not astonished when it sees the 
sinner become the saint. Of course, the world has its own 
sarcastic account to give. Dissipation leads to weariness, 
and weariness to satiety, and satiety to devotion, and so 
your great sinner becomes a great saint, and serves God 
when all his emotions are exhausted. Be it so. He who 
knew our nature well, knew that marvelous revolutions go 
on in the soul of a man whom the world counts lost. In 
our wildest wanderings there is sometimes a love, strong as 
a father's, tender as a mother's, watching over us, and bring- 
ing back the erring child again. Know you not the law of 
Nature? Have you never seen how out of chaos and fer- 



CHRIST. 41 

ment Nature brings order again — life out of death, beauty 
out of corruption? Such, gainsay it who will, often is the 
history of the rise of saintliness and purity out of a disap- 
pointed, bruised and penitent spirit. When the life-hopes 
have become a wreck — when the cravings of the heart for 
keen excitement have been ministered to so abundantly as 
to leave nothing but loathing and self-reproach behind — 
when innocence of heart is gone — yes, even then — scoff 
who will — the voice of Him is heard, who so dearly pur- 
chased the right to say it: "Come unto me, all ye that labor 
and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.'' 

The cause of man was the cause of Christ! He did no 
hireling work. The only pay He got was hatred, a crown 
of thorns, and the Cross. 

It was not manhood, but humanity, that was made Divine 
in Him. Humanity has its two sides: one side in the 
strength and intellect of manhood; the other in the tender- 
ness, and faith, and submissiveness of womanhood: Man 
and woman, not man alone, make up human nature. In 
Christ not one alone but both were glorified. Strength and 
grace, wisdom and love, courage and purity. Divine manli- 
ness, Divine womanliness. In all noble characters you find 
the two blended: in Him the noblest, blended into one entire 
and perfect humanity. 

There was in Him the woman-heart as well as the manly 
brain — all that was most manly, and all that was most 
womanly. Remember what He w^as in life: recollect His 
stern, iron hardness in the temptation of the desert: recol- 
lect the calmness that never quailed in all the uproars of 
the people, the truth that never faltered, the strict, severe 
integrity which characterized the Witness of the Truth: 
recollect the justice that never gave way to weak feeling — 
which let the rich young ruler go his way to perish if he 
would — which paid the tribute- money — which held the bal- 
ance fair between the persecuted woman and her accuser, 
but did not suffer itself to be betrayed by sympathy into 
any feeble tenderness — the justice that rebuked Peter with 
indignation, and pronounced the doom of Jerusalem un- 



42 Robertson's living thoughts. 

swervingly. Here is one side or pole of human character 
— surely not the feminine side. Now look at the other. 
Recollect the twice-recorded tears, which a man would have 
been ashamed to show, and which are never beautiful in 
man except when joined with strength like His: and recol- 
lect the sympathy craved and yearned for as well as given 
— the shrinkinof from solitude in praver — the tremblinof of 
a sorrow unto death — the considerate care which provided 
bread for the multitude, and said to the tired disciples, as 
with a sister's rather than a brother's thoughtfulness, " Come 
ye apart into the desert and rest a while." This is the 
other side or pole of human character — surely not the mas- 
culine. 

One there was in whom human nature was exhibited in 
all its elements symmetrically complete. One in whom, as 
I lately said, there met all that was manliest and all that 
was most womanly. His endurance of pain and grief was 
that of the woman rather than the man. A tender spirit 
dissolving into tears, meeting the dark hour not with the 
stern defiance of the man and the stoic, but with gentleness, 
and trust, and love, and shrinking, like a woman. But 
when it came to the question in Pilate's judgment-hall, or 
the mockeries of Herod's men of war, or the discussion with 
the Pharisees, or the exposure of the hollow falsehoods by 
which social, domestic and religious life were sapped, the 
woman has disappeared, and the hardy resolution of the 
man, with more than manly daring, is found in her stead. 

There is no prescription for the sickness of the heart, 
but that which is written in the Redeemer's blood. 

He was here to restore that which was broken down and 
crumbling into decay. An enthusiastic antiquarian, stand- 
ing amidst the fragments of an ancient temple surrounded 
by dust and moss, broken pillar and defaced architrave, 
with magnificent projects in his mind of restoring all this 
to former majesty, to draw out to light from mere rubbish 
the ruined glories, and therefore stooping down among the 
dank ivy and the rank nettles; such was Christ amidst the 
wreck of human nature. He was striving to lift it out of 



CHRIST. 43 

its degradation. He was searching out in revolting places 
that which had fallen down, that He might build it up 
again in fair proportions, a holy temple to the Lord. 

If any one ever felt the beauty of this world, it was He. 
The beauty of the lily nestling in the grass — He felt it all; 
but the beauty which He exhibited in life was the stern 
loveliness of moral action. The Kincr in His beautv " had 
no form or com^iness"; it was the beauty of obedience, of 
noble deeds, of unconquerable fidelity, of unswerving truth, 
of Divine self-devotion. The Cross! the Cross! We must 
have something of iron and hardness in our characters. 
The Cross tells us that is the true Beautiful which is 
Divine: an inward, not an outward beauty, which rejects 
and turns sternly away from the meretricious forms of the 
outward world. 

The Eternal Word whispered in the souls of men before 
it spoke articulately aloud in the Incarnation. It was the 
Divine Thought before it became the Divine Expression. 
It was the Light that lighteth every man that cometh into 
the world, before it blazed into the Day-spring from on 
high which visited us. The mind of Christ, the spirit of 
the years yet future, blended itself with life before He 
came; for His words were the eternal verities of our hu- 
manity. 

If we would separate the world from sin, and from the 
penalty of sin, and the inward misery of the heart attendant 
on sin in this world and the world to come, it is written in 
Scripture, "There is none other name under heaven given 
among men, whereby we must be saved," than the name of 
Jesus. 

The perfection of Christ's humanity implies that He was 
possessed of a human soul as well as a human body. There 
was a view held in early times, and condemned by the 
Church as a heresy, according to which the body of Christ 
was an external framework animated by Deity, as our bodies 
are animated by our souls. What the soul is to us, Deity 
was to Christ. His body was flesh, blood, bones — moved, 
guided, ruled by indwelling Divinity. 



44 ROBERTSON'S LIVIKG THOUGHTS. 

If there has been on this earth no real, perfect human 
life, no love that never cooled, no faith that never failed, 
which may shine as a loadstar across the darkness of our 
experience, a light to light amidst all convictions of our 
own meanness and all suspicions of others' littleness, why, 
we may have a religion, but we have not a Christianity. 
For if we lose Him as a Brother, we cannot feel Him as a 
Saviour. 

He in whose heart the Law was, and who alone of all 
mankind was content to do it. His sacrifice alone can be the 
sacrifice all-sufficient in the Father's sight as the proper 
sacrifice of humanity: He who through the Eternal Spirit 
offered Himself without spot to God, He alone can give the 
Spirit which enables us to present our bodies a living sacri- 
fice, holy and acceptable to God. He is the only High priest 
of the universe. 

The coldest hour of all the night is that which immedi- 
ately precedes the dawn, and in that darkest hour of Jeru- 
salem's night her light beamed forth; her wisest and greatest 
came in the midst of her, almost unknown, born under the 
law, to emancipate those who were groaning under the law. 
His life, the day of His preaching, was Jerusalem's time of 
grace. 

The Son is the human side of the mind of God. 

In One alone has the Divine been so blended with the 
human, that, as the ocean mirrors every star and every tint 
of blue upon the sky, so was the earthly life of Christ the 
life of God on earth. 

Oil and water could as easily blend as the mind of 
Christ with evil. Temptation glanced from His heart as 
the steel point does from the surface of the diamond. It 
was not that evil propensities were kept under by the power 
of the Spirit in Him: — He had no evil propensities at all. 
Obedience was natural to Him. 

In Christ God beholds humanity; in Christ He sees per- 
fected every one in whom Christ's spirit exists in germ. He 



CHRIST. 45 

to whom the possible is actual, to whom what will be already 
is, sees all things present, gazes on the imperfect, and sees 
it in its perfection. 

The way in which some speak of the sinlessness of Jesus 
reduces all His suffering to physical pain, destroys the 
reality of temptation, reduces that glorious heart to a pre- 
tense, and converts the whole of His history into a mere 
fictitious drama, in which scenes of trial were only repre- 
sented, not really felt. Remember that, ''' in all points," 
the Redeemer's soid was tempted. 

Love, mercy, tenderness, purity — these are no mere 
names when we see them brought out in the human actions 
of our Master. Holiness is only a shadow to our minds, 
till it receives shape and substance in the life of Christ. 
All this character of holiness is intelligible to us in Christ. 

He was the representative of God — of God under the 
limitations of humanity. 

Christ came to call out all the principles and powers 
of human nature, to restore the natural equilibrium of all 
our faculties; not to call us back to our own individual 
selfish nature, but to human nature as it is in God's ideal 
— the perfect type which is to be realized in us. 

Christ has broken down the middle wall of partition; 
He has revealed God as Our Father; proclaimed that there 
is no distinction in the spiritual family, and established a 
real Brotherhood on earth. 

We are redeemed by the life of God without us, mani- 
fested in the person of Christ, kindling into flame the life 
of God that is within us. Without Him we can do nothing. 
Without Him the warmth that was in Zaccheus' heart 
would have smouldered uselessly away. Through Him it 
became life and light, and the lost was saved. 

That which is most deeply working in modern life and 
thought is the mind of Christ. His name has passed over 



46 ROBERTSON'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

our institutions, and much more has His spirit penetrated 
into our social and domestic existence. 

Men of pleasure, whose hearts are as capable of an 
eternal blessedness as a Christian's, that is the terrible 
meaning and moral of your dissipation. God in Christ is 
your only Eden, and out of Christ you can have nothing 
but the restlessness of Cain. 

The life of Christ and the death of Christ must be made 
the law of our life. Reject that, and we reject our own 
salvation ; and, in rejecting that, we bring on in rapid 
steps, for the nation and for ourselves, the day of judgment 
and of ruin. 

In the proper sense of the word, He was a victim. He 
did not adroitly wind through the dangerous forms of evil, 
meeting it with expedient silence. Face to face, and front 
to front, He met it, rebuked it, and defied it; and just as 
truly as he is a voluntary victim whose body, opposing the 
progress of the car of Juggernaut, is crushed beneath its 
monstrous wheels, was Christ a victim to the world's sin: 
because pure, He was crushed by impurity; because just 
and real and true. He waked up the rage of injustice, 
hypocrisy, and falsehood. 

CHRISTIAN. 

A LIVING character is impressed upon us: we are as the 
glass or mirror which reflects back a likeness, only we reflect 
it livingly; it does not pass away from us as the image 
does from the glass, but is an imparted life, which develops 
itself more and more within us: for Christ is not a mere 
example, but the life of the world; and the Christian is not 
a mere copy, but a living image of the living God. 

He is sanctified by the self-devotion of his Master from 
the world, who has a life in himself independent of the 
maxims and customs which sweep along with them other 
men. In his Master's words, "A well of water in him, 
springing up into everlasting life," keeping his life on the 



CHRISTIAN. 47 

whole pure, and his heart fresh. His true life is hid with 
Christ in God. His motives, the aims and objects of his 
life, however inconsistent they may be with each other, 
however irregularly or feebly carried out, are yet on the 
whole above, not here. His citizenship is in heaven. He 
may be tempted, he may err, he may fall, but still in his 
darkest aberrations there will be a something that keeps 
before him still the dreams and aspirations of his best days 
— a thought of the cross of Christ and the self-consecration 
that it typifies — a conviction that that is the highest, and 
that alone the true life. And that — if it were only that — 
would make him essentially different from other men, even 
when he mixes with them and seems to catch their tone, 
among them but not one of them. And that life within 
him is Christ's pledge that he shall be yet what he longs to 
be — a something severing him, separating him, consecrating 
him. For him and for such as him the consecration prayer 
of Christ was made. "They are not of the world, even as 
I am not of the world: Sanctify them through thy truth: 
thy word is truth." 

The Christian must leave the world alone. His blessed- 
ness lies in quiet work with the Israel of God. His home 
is in that deep, unruffled tranquillity which belongs to those 
who are trying to know Christ. 

Remember Christian progress is only possible in Christ. 
It is a very lofty thing to be a Christian; for a Christian is 
a man who is restoring God's likeness to his character; and 
therefore the apostle calls it here a high calling. High as 
heaven is the calling wherewith we are called. But this 
very height makes it seem impracticable. It is natural to 
say, All that was well enough for one so transcendently 
gifted as Paul to hope for: but I am no gifted man; I have 
no iron strength of mind; I have no sanguine hopefulness 
of character; I am disposed to look on the dark side of 
things; I am undetermined, weak, vacillating; and then I 
have a whole army of passions and follies to contend with. 
We have to remind such men of one thing they have for- 
gotten. It is the high calling of God, if you will; but it is 
the hiorh calling of God in Christ Jesus. What the world 



48 Robertson's livikg thoughts. 

calls virtue, is a name and a dream without Christ. The 
foundation of all human excellence must be laid deep in the 
blood of the Redeemer's cross, and in the power of His 
Resurrection. 

Character is an exceedingly delicate thing, that of a 
Christian man especially so. To a certain extent it is true, 
no doubt, that we must not be over- anxious as to the 
estimation in which we are held by others : it is true, no 
doubt, to a certain extent, that the character which cannot 
defend itself is not worth defending, and that it is better to 
live down evil reports. But if a character is never de- 
fended, it comes to be considered as incapable of defense, 
and besides we know that often many years are required to 
clear away suspicions, and then the vindication often comes 
too late for the maligned man. 

True Christian life is like the march of a conquering 
army into a fortress which has been breached; men fall by 
hundreds in the ditch. Was their fall a failure? Nay, for 
their bodies bridge over the hollow, and over them the rest 
pass on to victory. The quiet religious worship that we 
have this day — how comes it to be ours? It was purchased 
for us by the constancy of such men as John, who freely 
gave their lives. We are treading upon a bridge of 
martyrs. The suffering was theirs — the victory is ours. 

In Christ there is not given to us a faultless essay on 
the loveliness of self-consecration, to convince our reason 
how beautiful it is: but there is given to us a self- 
consecrated One: a living Truth, a living Person; a life 
that was beautiful, a death that we feel in our inmost 
hearts to have been divine: and all this in order that the 
Spirit of that consecrated life and consecrated death, 
through love, and wonder, and deep enthusiasm, may pass 
into us, and sanctify us also to the truth in life and death. 
He sacrificed Himself that we might offer ourselves a living 
sacrifice to God. 

The death and the life of Christ are to be manifested in 
our mortal body. We are to let things come as God pleases, 



CHRISTIANITY. 49 

making both joy and sorrow divine, by infusing into them 
the Cross and the Resurrection. We are to show Christ 
forth in our lives till He comes. He is the sun; and 
Christian life is as the turning of the sunflower to the sun. 

The law of humanity in Christ is, that " they which 
live should not henceforth live unto themselves, but unto 
Him which died for them." Such is the Christian law of 
sacrifice: to present our bodies and souls to Christ as 
a living offering. It is no longer the law of nature 
which rules our life, no longer self-preservation, self- 
indulgence ; but it is self-surrender toward God and toward 
man. 

The world is very keen-sighted: it looks through the 
excitement of your religious meetings, cjuietly watches the 
rest of your scandal, scans your consciousness, and the 
question which the world keeps putting pertinaciously is, 
Are these men in earnest? Is it any marvel if Christian 
unreality is the subject of scoffs and bitter irony? 

See what a Christian is, drawn by the hand of Christ. 
He is a man on whose clear and open brow God has set the 
stamp of truth: one whose very eye beams bright with 
honor; in whose very look and bearing you may see free- 
dom, manliness, veracity; a brave man — a noble man — 
frank, generous, true, with, it may be, many faults; whose 
freedom may take the form of impetuosity or rashness, but 
the form of meanness never. Young men, if you have 
been deterred from religion by its apparent feebleness and 
narrowness, remember, it is a manly thing to be a 
Christian. 

CHRISTIANITY. 

Christianity is a spirit — it is a set of principles, and 
not a set of rules. 

The truth which Christ taught was chiefly on these three 
points: God, man, immortality. 

Settle it in your hearts: Christianity is Christ: under- 
stand Him, breathe His spirit, comprehend His mind; 
8 



50 ROBERTSOTSr'S LIVIKG THOUGHTS. 

Christianity is a life, a spirit. Let self die with Christ, and 
with Him rise to a life of holiness; and then, whether you 
are a minister or ministered to, you need not care what 
discussions may arise, nor how men may dispute your 
Christianity, or deny your share in the Gospel; you stand 
upon a rock. 

The Gospel threw light on God: light unknown before, 
even to the holiest hearts among the Jews. " Clouds and 
darkness are the habitation of His seat," spoke the Old 
Testament; "God is light, and in Him is no darkness at 
all," declared the New. For out of Christ our God is only 
a dark, dim and dreadful mystery. There is only an awful 
silence, which is never broken by an articulate voice. But 
all is brightness in the Eedeemer's life and death. 

The Gospel threw light, too, upon man's own nature. 
Man — a dark enigma, a contradiction to himself, with God- 
like aspirations and animal cravings — asks his own heart 
in terror, "Am I a god or beast?" And the Gospel answers: 
" You are a glorious temple in ruins, to be rebuilt into a 
habitation of God and the Spirit, your soul to be the home 
of the High and Holy One, your body to be the temple of 
the Holy Ghost." It threw light upon the grave; for " life 
and immortality " were " brought to light through the 
Gospel." The darkness of the tgmb was irradiated; and 
the things of that undiscovered land shone clear and tran- 
quil then to the eye of faith: but not until theji, for im- 
mortality before was but a mournful perhaps. 

I COULD not tell you too strongly my own deep and 
deepening conviction that the truths which I teach are true. 
Every year they shed fresh light on one another, and seem 
to stretch into immensity. They explain to me life, God, 
and the Bible; and I am certain that what fresh light I 
shall receive will be an expansion and not a contradiction 
of what I have. As for the words in which I try to make 
others see what I see, they indeed are poor and bewildered 
enough. But there is no bewilderment in my mind, though 
much that is incomplete. The principles are rooted in 
human nature, God, and the being of things; and I find 



CHRISTIANITY. 51 

them at the root of every page in Scripture. The principles 
cannot be reversed. My mind has grown by a regular 
development year by year, and I could as easily say that I 
doubt my own existence as doubt those truths which have 
grown with my growth and strengthened with my strength. 
They are not opinions nor theories, but convictions: part of 
my being, of my habits of thought and life, coloring every- 
thing, " the fountain light of all my day, the master light 
of all my seeing.'' These are the truths for which men go 
to the stake, and relinquish, joyfully, friends, sympathy, 
good name, w^orldly prospects. They do not depend upon 
the accuracy of an intellectual process, but upon the verdict 
of all the highest powers of soul. 

The language often used in our own day about an abso- 
lute Christianity, separate from the personality of Jesus 
Christ, is, after all, but a dream. Our Christianity is not 
merely the abstract truths which Christ taught, but Christ 
Himself, who lived, and died, and rose again for us, our 
Redeemer and our God. 

The celestial fire touched the hearts of men, and their 
hearts flamed; and it caught, and spread, and w^ould not 
stop. On they w^ent, that glorious band of brothers, in 
their strange enterprise, over oceans, and through forests, 
penetrating into the dungeon, and to the throne — to the 
hut of the savage feeding on human flesh, and to the shore 
lined with the skin- clad inhabitants of these far isles of 
Britain. Read the account given by TertuUian of the 
marvelous rapidity with which the Christians increased, 
and you are reminded of one of those vast armies of ants 
which moves across a country in in^esistible myriads, 
drowned by thousands in rivers, cut off by fire, consumed 
by man and beast, and yet fresh hordes succeeding inter- 
minably to supply their place. 

A new voice was heard: a new yearning upon earth; 
man pining at being severed from his brother, and longing 
to burst the false distinctions which had kept the best hearts 
from each other so long — an infant cry of life — the cry of 
the young church of God. And all this from Judea — the 



52 R0BERTS02!^'S LIVIISTG THOUGHTS. 

narrowest, most bigoted, most intolerant nation on the face 
of the earth. 

A:n^d that which is the essential peculiarity of this Chris- 
tianity lies in these two things. First of all, that the mo- 
rality which it teaches is disinterested goodness — goodness 
not for the sake of the blessing that follows it, but for its 
own sake, and because it is right. " Love your enemies," is 
the Gospel precept. Why ? — Because if you love them you 
shall be blessed; and if j^ou do not, cursed ? No; but 
" Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to 
them that hate 3'Ou, and pray for them which despitefuUy 
use you and persecute you, that ye may be the children 
of" — that is, may be like — ''your Father which is in 
heaven." The second essential peculiarity of Christianity — 
and this, too, is an essential peculiarity of this sermon, — is 
that it teaches and enforces the law of self-sacrifice. " If 
thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out; if thy right hand 
offend thee, cut it off." This, brethren, is the law of self- 
sacrifice — the very law and spirit of the blessed cross of 
Christ. 

The charity of God, the sacrifice of Christ — these are 
the two grand, leading principles of the Gospel; and in 
some form or other you will find these lying at the roots of 
every profession and state of feeling in almost every age. 
But the form in which these appear will vary with all the 
gradations which are to be found between the lowest sav- 
age state and the highest and most enlightened Christianity. 
Many nations and ages have caricatured them ■ — dislocated, 
perverted them. 

We hear the voice of God as it was once heard in the 
garden of Eden whispering among the leaves: every sound, 
once so discordant, becomes music, the anthem of creation 
raised up, as it were, with everlasting hallelujahs to the 
eternal throne. Then it is that a man first knows his im- 
mortality, and the soul knows what is meant by infinitude 
and eternity; not that infinitude which can be measured by 
miles, nor that eternity which can be computed by hours; 
but the eternity of emotion. Let a man breathe but one 



CHRISTIANITY. 53 

hour of the charity of God, and feel but one true emotion of 
the reconciled heart, and then he knows forever what is 
meant by immortality, and he can understand the reality of 
his own. 

Chkistianity is the eternal religion which can never 
become obsolete. If it sets itself to determine the tempo- 
rary and the local, the justice of this tax, or the exact 
wrongs of that conventional maxim, it would soon become 
obsolete; it would be the religion of one century, not of all. 
As it is, it commits itself to nothing except eternal pyHn- 
ciples. 

Just as if the temperature of this northern hemisphere 
were raised suddenly, and a mighty tropical river were to 
pour its fertilizing inundation over the country, the result 
would be the impartation of a vigorous and gigantic growth 
to the vegetation already in existence, and at the same time 
the development of life in seeds and germs which had long 
lain latent in the soil, incapable of vegetation in the un- 
kindly climate of their birth. Exactly in the same way the 
flood of a Divine life poured suddenly into the souls of men, 
enlarged and ennobled qualities which had been used already, 
and at the same time developed powers which never could 
have become apparent in the cold, low temperature of 
natural life. 

There is a difference between the spirit of Judaism and 
that of Christianity. The spirit of Judaism is separation; 
that of Christianity is permeation. To separate the evil 
from the good was the aim and work of Judaism : — to sever 
one nation from all other nations, certain meats from other 
meat, certain days from other days. Sanctify means to set 
apart. The very essence of the idea of Hebrew holiness 
lay in sanctification in the sense of separation. On the 
contrary, Christianity is permeation: it permeates all evil 
with good; it aims at overcoming evil by good; it desires to 
transfuse the spirit of the day of rest into all other days, 
and to spread the holiness of one nation over all the world. 
To saturate life with God, and the world with heaven, that 
is the genius of Christianity. 



54 ROBERTSON'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

CHRisTiAmTY — opposed by the force of governments, 
counterfeited by charlatanism, sneered at by philosophers, 
cried down by frantic mobs, coldly looked at from a dis- 
tance by the philosophical, pursued with unrelenting hatred 
by Judaism, met by unions and combinations of trades, hav- 
ing arrayed against it every bad passion of humanity — 
went swiftly on, conquering and to conquer. 

Christianity works from what is internal to what is 
external. It gave to the slave the feeling of his dignity 
as a man; at the same time it gave to the Christian master 
a new view of his relation to his slave, and taught him to 
regard him " not now as a servant, but above a servant, a 
brother beloved." 

His kingdom was one founded on spiritual disposition, 
not one of outward law and jurisprudence. 

Christianity is a revelation of the xove of God — a de- 
mand of our love by God based thereon. Christianity is a 
revelation of Divine forgiveness — a requirement thereupon 
that we should forgive each other. 

It is not conformity to a creed that is here required, but 
aspiration after a state. It is not demanded of us to per- 
form a number of duties, but to yield obedience to a certain 
spiritual law. 

- It is a great privilege, too, to know that the Gospel is a 
system of resources by which we are to become purer and 
better day by day. It is a grand thing to be a Christian. 
It is a magnificent hope that we are ever to become par- 
takers of the Divine Nature. 

Christianity is the regeneration of our whole nature, 
not the destruction of one atom of it. 

Philosophy has become Christian; science has knelt to 
Christ. 



CHURCH. 55 

CHURCH. 

The Church exists for the purpose of educating souls for 
heaven, but it would be a perversion of this purpose were 
we to think that goodness will not be received by God 
because it has not been educated in the Church. Goodness 
is goodness, find it where we may. A vineyard exists for 
the purpose of nurturing vines, but he would be a strange 
vine-dresser who denied the reality of grapes because they 
had ripened under a less genial soil, and beyond the pre- 
cincts of the vineyard. 

The Church is the ideal of humanity. It represents 
what God intended man to be — what man is in God's sight 
as beheld in Christ by Him ; and the minister of the Church 
speaks as the representative of that ideal humanity. 

Prom the days of Cain and Abel there have been ever 
two classes, the oppressor and the oppressed; the gentle 
humble ones who refuse to right themselves, and the un- 
scrupulous who force them aside. The Church has ever had 
the world against it. The world struck its first deadly 
blow by the hand of Cain, and it has been striking ever 
since: from the battle-field, and the martyr's stake, and the 
dungeons of the Inquisition, and the prisons of the lordly 
tyrant, the blood of the innocent has cried for vengeance. 

When we speak of the Church we generally mean a 
society to aid men in their progress Godward; but the 
Church of God is by no means coextensive in any age with 
that organized institution which we call the Church; some- 
times it is nearly coextensive — that is, nearly all on earth 
who are born of God are found within its pale, nearly all 
who are of the world are extraneous to it; but sometimes 
the born of God have been found distinct from the institu- 
tion called the Church — opposed to it, persecuted by it. 
The institution of the Church is a blessed ordinance of God, 
organized on earth for the purpose of representing the 
eternal Church, and of extending its limits, but still ever 
subordinate to it. 



56 KOBERTSOI^'S LIVIKG THOUGHTS. 

It is a Church most truly when it is most plainly de- 
voted. Thus it was in martyr times, when the death and 
persecuted existence of the saints of God were at once the 
life-blood of the Church and a testimony to the truth of its 
Faith. 

The Church of God remains under fresh forms — the 
one, holy, entire family in heaven and earth. 

CIVILIZATION, 

Civilization does free: intellect equalizes. Every step 
of civilization is a victory over some lower instinct. But 
civilization contains within itself the elements of a fresh 
servitude. Man conquers the powers of nature, and becomes 
in turn their slave. The workman is in bondage to the 
machinery which does his will: his hours, his wages, his 
personal habits determined by it. The rich man fills his 
house with luxuries, and cannot do without them. A highly 
civilized community is a very spectacle of servitude. Man is 
there a slave to dress, to hours, to manners, to conventions, 
to etiquette. Things contrived to make his life more easy 
become his masters. 

Jesus did not talk of the progress of the species nor the 
growth of civilization. He did not trust the world's hope of 
liberty to a right division of property. But he freed the 
inner man, that so the outer might become free too. ''Ye 
shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free." 

CONFESSION. 

There is something strengthening, something soothing, 
and at the same time something humbling, in acknowledg- 
ing that we have done wrong. There is a pride in us which 
cannot bear pity. There is a diseased sensitiveness which 
shrinks from the smart of acknowledgment; and yet that 
smart must be borne before we can be truly soothed. When 
was it that the younger son in the parable received the 
ring, and the robe, and the banquet, which represent the 
rapture of the sense of being forgiven? When he had forti- 



CONSCIENCE. 57 

tude enough to go back, mile by mile, step by step, every 
inch of the way he had gone wrong, borne unflinchingly the 
sneer of his father's domestics, and, worse than all, the sar- 
casms of his immaculate brother, and manfully said, " Father, 
I have sinned." When w^as it that the publican went down 
justified to his house? When he said, even before a super- 
cilious Pharisee, "God be merciful to me a sinner!" When 
did the royal delinquent hear the words, " The Lord hath 
also put away thy sin"? When he gave the sacrifice of his 
lips: "I have sinned before the Lord." And when did the 
church of Ephesus rise into the brightest model of a perfect 
church that has yet been exhibited on earth? After her 
converts had publicly come forward, burnt those manu- 
scripts which were called " Ephesian letters" to the value of 
50,000 pieces of silver, "confessed and showed their deeds." 
Thfere is a profound truth in the popular anxiet}^ that a 
murderer should confess before he dies. It is an instinctive 
feeling that a true death is better than a false life. 

CONSCIENCE. 

A MAN may unsettle the verdict of his intellect: it is at 
his peril that he tampers with the convictions of his con- 
science. Every opinion and view must remain an open 
question, freely to be tried wdth fresh light. But there are 
eternal truths of right and wrong, such as the plain morali- 
ties and instinctive decencies of social life, upon w^hich it is 
perilous to argue. 

Some men write and speak as if the difference between 
the Christian and the worldly man was this, that in the one 
conscience is a self-reproaching hell, and in the other a self- 
congratulating heaven. Oh, brethren, is this the fact ? 
Think you that the Christian goes home at night counting 
up the noble deeds done during the day, saying to himself, 
"Well done, good and faithful servant"? Brethren, that 
habit of looking forward to the future prevents all pride 
and self-righteousness, and makes our best and only rest 
and satisfaction to consist in contemplating the future 
which is bringing us nearer and nearer home. Our motto, 
therefore, must be that striking one of the Apostle Paul, 



58 ROBERTSON'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

"Forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching 
forth to those things which are before, I press toward the 
mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ 
Jesus." 

A FAULT has the power sometimes of distorting life till 
all seems hideous and unnatural. A man who has left his 
proper nature, and seems compelled to say and do things 
unnatural and in false show, who has thus become untrue 
to himself, — to him life and the whole universe becomes un- 
true. He can grasp nothing; he does not stand on fact; he 
is living as in a dream — himself a dream. All is ghastly, 
unreal, spectral. A burden is on him as of a nightmare. 
He moves about in nothingness and shadows, as if he were 
not. His own existence swiftly passing might seem a phan- 
.tom life, were it not for the corroding pang of anguish in 
his soul, for that at least is real. 

When did you ever hear that conscience could be saved 
without a self-sacrifice? For the victory of the true lies not 
so much in winning the contest as in spreading spirit. 

No man's conscience gets so seared by doing what is 
wrong unknowingly as by doing that which appears to be 
wrong to his conscience. The Jews' consciences did not get 
seared by their slaying the Canaanites, but they did become 
seared by their failing to do what appeared to them to be 
right. Therefore, woe to you if you do what others think 
right, instead of obeying the dictates of your own con- 
science ; woe to you if you allow authority, or prescription, or 
fashion, or influence, or any other human thing, to interfere 
with that awful and sacred thing, responsibility. "Every 
man," said the apostle, " must give an account of himself to 
God." 

Conscience, when it is healthy, ever speaks thus: "My 
transgression." It was not the guilt of them that tempted 
you — they have theirs; but each as a separate agent, his 
own degree of guilt. Yours is your own; the violation of 
your own and not another's sense of duty ; solitary, awful, 



COURAGE. 59 

unshared, adhering to you alone of all the spirits of the 
universe. 

The conscience of man is a holy, sacred thing. The worst 
of crimes is to injure a human conscience. Better kill the 
body. Remember how strongly Saint Paul speaks: " When 
ye sin so against the brethren, and wound their weak con- 
science, ye sin against Christ." And that sin, remember, 
consisted in leading them to do a thing which, though right 
in itself, they thought wrong. 

Many a man, whose heart swells with what he thinks 
pious horror when he sees the letter delivered or the train 
run upon the Sabbath-day, can pass through the streets at 
night undepressed and unshocked by the evidences of the 
wide-spreading profligacy which has eaten deep into his 
country's heart. 

Better support the wrong cause conscientiously than 
the right one insincerely. Better be a true man on the side 
of wrong than a false man on the side of right. 

You cannot manufacture a conscience out of expediency: 
the voice of conscience says not, " It is better not do so," but 
*' Thou Shalt not." 

COURAGE. 

He who feels his soul's dignity, knowing what he is and 
who, redeemed by God the Son, and freed by God the Spirit, 
cannot cringe, nor pollute himself, nor be mean. 

There have been men like John the Baptist, who could 
speak the truth which had made their own spirits free, with 
the axe above their neck. There have been men, redeemed 
in their inmost being by Christ, on whom tyrants and mobs 
have done their worst, and who when, like Stephen, the stones 
crashed in upon their brain, or when their flesh hissed and 
crackled in the flames, were calmly superior to it all. The 
power of evil had laid its shackles on the flesh, but the mind 
and the soul and the heart were free. 



60 ROBERTSON'S LIVIi^G THOUGHTS. 

The Christian spirit is totally distinct from that of stoicism 
or mere manliness. It is one thing to bow to fate, and an- 
other to bow to Grod; it is one thing to submit because we 
must, and another because we ought. Perhaps there is 
nothing in the whole range of human history so sublime as 
the Stoic's defiance of pain; but this is not the Spirit of 
Christ. All honor to courage; at the least it is unselfish, 
while cowardice is selfishness. The sailor who cuts out the 
ship under the fire of the enemy's batteries, is noble; the 
North American Indian suffering torture without a single 
groan; the man who has a vulture-sorrow gnawing at his 
heart, but who goes on with a stern defiance — a godlike 
indifference to the thing which is preying upon his very life 
— is sublime and grand ; but the spirit of the Indian is one 
thing and the Spirit of Christ another. The man who with 
closed teeth in his own room can resolve that no extremity 
of suffering shall wring from him one groan is manly; but 
manliness is not blessedness. He only can rejoice in infirmi- 
ties, in reproaches, in suffering, who, taking the cup gently, 
lovingly, humbly into his hand, can drain it to the dregs, 
and say, as did his Master, '' The cup which my Father hath 
given me, shall I not drink it? " 

COURTESY. 

Courtesy is not confined to the high-bred; often theirs is 
but the artistic imitation of courtesy. The peasant who 
rises to put before you his only chair, while he sits upon the 
oaken chest, is a polite man. Motive determines every- 
thing. If we are courteous merely to substantiate our 
claims to mix in good society, or exhibit good manners 
chiefly to show that we have been in it, — this is a thing 
indeed to smile at: contemptible, if it were not rather 
pitiable. But that politeness which springs spontaneously 
from the heart, the desire to put others at their ease, to save 
the stranger from a sensation of awkwardness, to soothe 
the feeling of inferiority, — that, ennobled as it is by love, 
mounts to the high character of a heavenly grace. 



CROSS. 61 

COVETOUSNESS. 

Consider somewhat more deeply this covetousness. In 
the original the word is a very expressive one. It means 
the desire of having more — not of having more because 
there is not enough, but simply a craving after more. More 
when a man has not enough. More when he has. More, 
more, ever more. Give, give. Divide, divide. 

This desire of accumulation is the source of all our great- 
ness, and all our baseness. It is at once our glory and our 
shame. It is the cause of our commerce, of our navy, of 
our military triumphs, of our enormous wealth, and our 
marvelous inventions. And it is the cause of our factions 
and animosities, of our squalid pauperism, and the worse 
than heathen degradation of the masses of our population. 

CROSS. 

Christianity teaches it in the person of Christ. The 
Cross is an abstraction until clothed in flesh and blood. Go 
and talk like a philosopher to one in suffering: you get an 
acknowledgment of your effort, but you have not soothed 
the sufferer. But go and tell him of the law in Christ; 
tell him that He has borne the Cross; and there is the pecu- 
liar Christian feeling of comfort, with all its tenderness, 
humanity, and personality. The law of the Cross is the 
truth, the rock truth, but only in a person. And hence 
comes the hymned feeling — how much more living than a 
philosophy ! 

" Rock of Ages cleft for me, 
Let me hide myself in Thee^ 

So it is that in the mere word cross there is that sentiment 
which no other word in the English language can supply. 
Law of self-sacrifice? No: that is cold, not dear to us, per- 
sonal, living, like the Cross. 

Our polar star is the love of the cross. Take the eye off 
that, and you are in darkness and bewilderment at once. 
Let us not mind what is past. Perhaps it is all failure, and 
useless struggle, and broken resolves. What then? Settle 



62 ROBERTSON'S LIVIN^G THOUGHTS. 

this first, brethren, Are you in earnest? If so, though your 
faith be weak and your struggles unsatisfactory, you may 
begin the hymn of triumph noiv^ for victory is pledged. 
"Thanks be to God, which*' — not shall give, but — '^ giveth 
us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." 

His second exclamation was, " My God, my God, why hast 
Thou forsaken me?" We will not dive into the deep myste- 
ries of that expression — we will not pretend to be wiser 
than what is written, endeavoring to comprehend where the 
human is mingled with the Divine — we will take the matter 
simply as it stands. It is plain from this expression that 
the Son of God felt as if He had been deserted by His 
Father. We know that He was not deserted by Him, or 
else God had denied Himself, after saying, " This is my be- 
loved Son, in whom I am well pleased." And they who 
maintain that this was real desertion, attribute that to the 
Lord of Love which can alone belong to Judas — the deser- 
tion of innocence; therefore we conclude that it arose from 
the infirmities of our Master's innocent human nature. It 
was the darkening of His human soul, not the hiding of 
God's countenance. He was worn, faint, and exhausted; 
His body was hanging from four lacerated wounds; and 
more than that, there was much to perplex the Redeemer's 
human feelings, for He was suffering there, the innocent for 
the guilty. For once God's law seemed reversed; and then 
came the human cry, '' My God, my God, why hast Thou for- 
saken me?" 

There is no doubt of what God means in the Cross: He 
means love, — the measure of the meaning of man's exist- 
ence. Measure all by the Cross. Do you want success? 
The Cross is failure. Do you want a name? The Cross is 
infamy. Is it to be gay and happy that you live? The 
Cross is pain and sharpness. Do you live that the will of 
God may be done — in you and by you, in life and death? 
Then, and only then, the Spirit of the Cross is in you. 
When once a man has learned that, the power of the world is 
gone; and no man need bid him, in denunciation or in invi- 
tation, not to love the world. He cannot love the world, for 
he has got an ambition above the world. He has planted 



CROSS. 63 

his foot upon the Rock, and when all else is gone he at least 
abides forever. 

We degrade His life and death by pictures of His phys- 
ical suffering and His bodily agony on the Cross. For it 
was not the nails that pierced His hands which wrung from 
Him the exceeding bitter cry, but the iron that had entered 
into His soul. 

The Cross is humbleness, love, self-surrender. These 
the apostle preached. To conquer the world by loving it — 
to be blessed by ceasing the pursuit of happiness, and sacri- 
ficing life instead of finding it — to make a hard lot easy by 
submitting to it: this was his divine philosophy of life. 
And the princes of this world, amidst scoffs and laughter, 
replied, Is that all? Nothing to dazzle — nothing to capti- 
vate. But the disciples of the inward life recognized the 
Divine Truth which this doctrine of the Cross contained. 
The humble of heart and the loving felt that in this lay the 
mystery of life, of themselves, and of God, all revealed and 
plain. It was God's own wisdom, felt by those who had 
the mind of Christ. 

When the law of the Cross is the law of our being — 
when we have learnt to surrender ourselves — then, and 
then only, we are free from all things: they are ours, not 
we theirs: we use them, instead of being crushed by them. 
The Christian is "creation's heir." He may say triumph- 
antly, " The world, the world is mine." 

Struggle to the Cross, even though it be struggling as 
in chains. Just as on a day of clouds, when you have 
watched the distant hills, dark and gray with mist, sud- 
denly a gleam of sunshine passing over reveals to you, in 
that flat surface, valleys and dells and spots of sunny hap- 
piness, which slept before unsuspected in the fog, so in the 
gloom of penitential life there will be times when God's 
deep peace and love will be felt shining into the soul with 
supernatural refreshment. Let the penitent be content 
with the servant's lot at first. Liberty and peace, and the 
bounding sensations of a Father's arms around you, come 
afterward. 



64 ROBERTSOi^'S LIVIi^G THOUGHTS. 



DEATH. 

No man who thinks can call it a trifling thing to die. 
True thoughtfulness mnst shrink from death without Christ. 
There is a world of untold sensations crowded into that 
moment when a man puts his hand to his forehead and feels 
the damp upon it, which tells him his hour is come. He 
has been waiting for death all his life, and now it is come. 
It is all over — his chance is past, and his eternity is settled. 
None of us know, except by guess, what that sensation is. 
Myriads of human beings have felt it to whom life was 
dear; but they never spoke out their feelings, for such 
things are untold. And to every individual man through- 
out all eternity that sensation in its fullness can come but 
once. 

We die alone. We go on our dark, mysterious journey 
for the first time in all our existence, without one to accom- 
pany us. Friends are beside our bed; they must stay 
behind. 

It is a Christian's privilege to have victory, over the fear 
of death. And here it is exceedingly easy to paint what, 
after all, is only the image-picture of a dying hour. It is 
the easiest thing to represent the dying Christian as a man 
who always sinks into the grave full of hope, full of triumph, 
in the certain hope of a blessed resurrection. Brethren, 
we must paint things in the sober colors of truth; not as 
they might be supposed to be, but as they are. Often that 
is only a picture. Either very few death-beds are Christian 
ones, or else triumph is a very different thing from what 
the word generally implies. Solemn, subdued, full of awe 
and full of solemnity, is the dying hour generall}^ of the 
holiest men : sometimes almost darkness. Eapture is a 
rare thing, except in books and scenes. 

Let us understand what really is the victory over fear. 
It may be rapture, or it may not. All that depends very 
much on temperament; and after all the broken words of 
a dying man are a very poor index of his real state before 
God. Rapturous hope has been granted to martyrs in 
peculiar moments. It is on record of a minister of our 



DEATH. 65 

own Church, that his expectation of seeing God in Christ 
became so intense as his last hour drew near, that his phy- 
sician was compelled to bid him calm his transports, because 
in so excited a state he could not die. A strange unnatural 
energy was imparted to his muscular frame by his nerves 
overstrung with triumph. But, brethren, it fosters a dan- 
gerous feeling to take cases like those as precedents. It 
leads to that most terrible of all unrealities — the acting of 
a death-bed scene. A Christian conqueror dies calmly. 
Brave men in battle do not boast that they are not afraid. 
Courage is so natural to them that they are not conscious 
they are doing anything out of the common way — Christian 
bravery is a deep, calm thing, unconscious of itself. There 
are more triumphant death-beds than we count, if we only 
remember this — true fearlessness makes no parade. 

Oh, it is not only in those passionate effusions in which 
the ancient martyrs spoke sometimes of panting for the 
crushing of their limbs by the lions in the amphitheater, 
or of holding out their arms to embrace the flames that 
were to curl round them — it is not then only that Christ 
has stood by His servants, and made them more than con- 
querors: there may be something of earthly excitement in 
all that. Every day His servants are dying modestly and 
peacefully — not a word of victory on their lips ; but Christ's 
deep triumph in their hearts — watching the slow progress 
of their own decay, and yet so far emancipated from per- 
sonal anxiety that they are still able to think and to plan for 
others, not knowing that they are doing any great thing. 
They die, and the world hears nothing of them; and yet 
theirs was the completest victory. They came to the battle- 
field, the field to which they had been looking forward all 
their lives, and the enemy was not to be found. There was 
no foe to fight with. 

One of the saddest spectacles is the decay of the natural 
man before the work of the Spirit has been accomplished in 
him. When the savage dies — when a mere infant dies — 
when an animal dies — there is nothing that is appalling 
or depressing there; but when the high, the developed in- 
tellect — when the cultivated man comes to the last hours 
of life, and the memory becomes less powerful, and the 
3* 



66 ROBERTSOI^'S LIVIISTG THOUGHTS. 

judgment fails, and all that belongs to nature and to earth 
visibly perishes, and the higher life has not been yet de^ 
veloped, though it is destined to survive the grave forever — r 
even the life of God — there is here ample cause for grief; 
and it is no wonder that the man of genius merely should 
shed tears at the idea of decaying life. 

That unutterable thing which we call our being — the 
idea of parting with it is agony. 

It is no matter of uncertainty to any one of us whether 
he himself shall die. He knows it. Every time the funeral 
bell tolls, the thought in some shape suggests itself, I am a 
mortal, dvino^ man. That is knowinsf it. Which of us has 
realized it? Who can shut his eyes, and bring it before him 
as a reality, that the day will come when the hearse will 
stand at the door for him, and that all this bright world 
will be going on without him; and that the very flesh 
which now walks about so complacently will have the 
coffin-lid shut down upon it, and be left to darkness, and 
loneliness, and silence, and the worm? 

The dying scene is worth little — little, at least, to us — 
except so far as it is in harmony with the rest of life. 

All that is human drops from us in that hour. Human 
faces flit and fade, and the sounds of the world become con- 
fused. "I shall die alone" — yes, and alone you live. The 
philosopher tells us that no atom in creation touches an- 
other atom — they only approach within a certain distance; 
then the attraction ceases, and an invisible something 
repels — they only seem to touch. Ko soul touches an- 
other soul except at one or two points; and those chiefly 
external — a fearful and a lonely thought, but one of the 
truest of life. Death only realizes that which has been the 
fact all along. In the central deeps of our being we are 
alone. 

Does your friend really think that the certainty of death 
in six months would not sound to her like a knell? Oh, no; 
be sure few really wish for death. Bad as life is, it is in 



DEATH. 67 

the power of a single dream to make us feel that it is not 
death we long for: 

Tis life, whereof our nerves are scant; 
More life and fuller, that we want; 
No heart in which was healthful breath, 
Has ever tmly longed for death. 

When a guilty man begins to think of dying, it is like a 
vision of the Son of Man presenting itself and calling out 
the voices of all the unclean spirits in the man — ''Art thou 
come to torment us before the time? " 

You must die. The day will come, and the coffin. Life 
in God alone robs that thought of dreadfulness: when the 
resurrection being begun within, you can look upon the 
decay of the outward man, and feel, I am not dying. 

He is at rest, I doubt not, now — in that deep, awful 
rest which is the most endearing of all the attributes of the 
life that shall be — the rest which is order instead of dis- 
order — harmony instead of chaotic passions in jar and 
discord, and duty instead of the conflict of self-will with 
His loving will. It is a noble thought, and I never hear of 
any one who has probably attained it without a feeling of 
congratulation rising to the lips. 

Just as we go to rest in this world tired, and wake up 
fresh and vigorous in the morning, so does the Christian go 
to sleep in the w^orld's night, weary with the work of life, 
and then on the resurrection day he wakes in his second 
and his brighter morning. 

The last form in which a Christian gets the victory over 
death is by means of his resurrection. It seems to have 
been this which was chiefly alluded to by the apostle here; 
for he says, '' When this corruptible shall have put on in- 
corruption . . . then shall come to pass the saying which 
is written. Death is swallowed up in victory.'' And to say 
the truth, brethren, it is a rhetorical expression rather than 
a sober truth when we call anything, except the resurrec- 
tion, victory over death. We may conquer doubt and fear 



68 ROBERTSOlSr^S LIVIKG THOUGHTS. 

when we are dying, but that is not conquering death. It is 
like a warrior crushed to death by a superior antagonist 
refusing to yield a groan, and bearing the glance of defiance 
to the last. You feel that he is an unconquerable spirit, 
but he is not the conqueror. And when you see flesh melt- 
ing away, and mental power becoming infantine in its 
feebleness, and lips scarcely able to articulate, is there left 
one moment a doubt upon the mind as to ivho is the con- 
queror, in spite of all the unshaken fortitude there may be? 
The victory is on the side of death, not on the side of the 
dying. 

'' It is finished." We are ever taking leave of something 
that will not come back again. We let go, with a pang, 
portion after portion of our existence. However dreary we 
may have felt life to be here, yet when that hour 
comes — the winding up of all things, the last grand rush 
of darkness on our spirits, the hour of that awful sudden 
wrench from all we have ever known or loved, the long 
farewell to sun, moon, stars and light — brother men, I ask 
you this day, and I ask myself, humbly and fearfully. What 
will then be finished? When it is finished, what will it be? 
Will it be the butterfly existence of pleasure, the mere life 
of science, a life of uninterrupted sin and selfish gratifica- 
tion; or will it be, "Father, I have finished the work 
which Thou gavest me to do?" 

EARNESTNESS. 

Eaenestness: that is sincerity of purpose. 

If we are not in earnest, difficulties will discourage us. 
Because will is wanting, we shall be asking still in ignorance 
and doubt. What is truth? 

The one difficulty in life is to be in earnest. All this 
world in the gala-day seems but a passing, unreal show. 
We dance, light-hearted, along the ways of existence, and 
nothing tells us that the earth is hollow to our tread. But 
soon some deep grief comes, and shocks us into reality; the 
solid earth rocks beneath our feet: the awfulness of life 



EDUCATIOIT. 69 

meets us face to face in the desert. Then the value of 
things is seen; then it is that godly sorrow produces care- 
fulness; then it is that, like Jacob, we cry, "How awful is 
this place! how solemn is this life! This is none other but 
the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven ! " Then it 
is that with moral earnestness we set forth, walking circum- 
spectly, weighing, with a watchful and sober eye, all the 
acts and thoughts which make up life. 

Eternity is crying out to you louder and louder as you 
near its brink, Rise, be going: count your resources: learn 
what you are not fit for, and give up wishing for it: learn 
what you can do, and do it with the energy of a man. 

EDUCATION. 

The mind of man left to itself is unproductive: alone in 
the wild woods he becomes a savage. Taken away from 
school early, and sent to the plough, the country boy loses 
by degrees that which distinguishes him from the cattle 
that he drives, and over his very features and looks the low 
animal expressions creep. Mind is necessary for mind. The 
mediatorial system extends through all God's dealings with 
us. The higher man is the mediator between God and the 
lower man: only through man can man receive development. 

The educated man, in proportion to his education, sees 
the number of laws diminished — beholds in the manifold 
appearances of nature the expression of a few laws, by 
degrees fewer, till at last it becomes possible to his concep- 
tion that they are all reducible to one, and that that which 
lies beneath the innumerable phenomena of nature is the 
One Spirit — God. 

Knowledge is power, power for good and evil. It is a 
power that may elevate a man by degrees up to an affinity 
with his Maker: it is a power that may bring him by 
degrees down to the level even of Satanic evil. Increased 
mental power will be the result of this plan; possibly that 
power will be devoted to bad purposes in many instances: 
it may become what it is not meant to be, the engine of 
some political party. 



70 Robertson's liyiitg thoughts. 

There are men who seem to be born intellectual heroes; 
men born to cut their way through any obstacles ; men who 
only require to meet difficulties in their way, and those diffi- 
culties will be surmounted. They are like the trees on the 
mountain, that require no more than a bare covering of 
soil on the rock to strike their roots firmly down; nothing 
more than the clear, serene, thin air of heaven to throw 
abroad their branches in. These are intellectual giants; 
and they would acquire knowledge under any circumstances; 
it is impossible to crush them. 

Life is very short; and the painter must not hope to be 
a good seaman; nor is the clergyman to pine because he 
cannot be the man of literature. 

Talent forms itself in solitude, 
Character in the storms of life. 

The soul collects its miorhtiest forces bv beincr thrown in 
upon itself, and coerced solitude often matures the mental 
and moral character marvelously, as in Luther's confine- 
ment in the Wartburg. Or, to take a loftier example, Paul 
during his three years in Arabia; or, grander still. His 
solitude in the desert: the Baptist's, too. But, on the other 
hand, solitude unbroken, from earliest infancy, or with 
nothing to sharpen the mind, either by collision with other 
minds, or the expectation of some new sphere of action 
shortl}^ would, I suppose, rust the mental energies. Still 
there is the spirit to be disciplined, humbled, and strength- 
ened, and it may gain in proportion as the mind is losing 
its sharpening education. 

EMOTION. 

There are some men whose affections are stronger than 
their understandings: they feel more than they think. They 
are simple, trustful, able to repose implicitly on what is 
told them — liable sometimes to verge upon credulity and 
superstition; but take them all in all, perhaps the happiest 
class of minds: for it is happy to be without misgivings 
about the love of God and our own eternal rest in Him. 
"Blessed,"' said Christ to Thomas, "are they that have be- 
lieved." 



ETERNITY. 71 

What is your religion? Excitability, romance, impres- 
sion, fear? Remember, excitement has its uses, impression 
has its value. John, in all circumstances of his appearance 
and style of teaching, impressed by excitement. Excite- 
ment, warmed feelings, make the first actings of religious 
life and the breaking of inveterate habits easier. But ex- 
citement and impression are not religion. 

The highest moment known on earth by the merely 
natural, is that in which the mysterious union of heart 
with heart is felt. Call it friendship — love — what you will, 
that mystic blending of two souls in one, when self is lost 
and found again in the being of another, when, as it were 
moving about in the darkness and loneliness of existence, 
we suddenly come in contact with something, and we find 
that spirit has touched spirit. This is the purest, serenest 
ecstasy of the merely human — more blessed than any sight 
that can be presented to the eye, or any sound that can be 
given to the ear; more sublime than the sublimest dream 
ever conceived by genius in its most gifted hour, when the 
freest way was given to the shaping spirit of imagination. 

ETERNITY. 

Time stretches back immeasurably, but it also stretches 
on and on forever. 

The great idea brought out by Christianity was the eter- 
nity of the soul's life. 

If every other trace of Deity has been expunged by the 
fall, these two, at least, defy destruction — the thought of 
eternal time, and the thought of immeasurable space. 

Your questions about eternity and a future state puzzle 
me. Time is but (to us) the succession of ideas, long or 
short, as they are few or many; and eternity, as we use the 
word, means nothing more than the endlessness of this suc- 
cession. The distinction made by religious people between 
eternity and time is an unthinking one. Eternity seems to 
me a word expressive of a negation; it does but deny a 



72 Robertson's livi:n'g thoughts. 

termination to that mental state which we call time, for 
time is a subjective thing; existing, that is, in us, not ex- 
ternally to us — a mode of our being. 

Eteenitt means nothing by itself. It merely expresses 
the existence of the high and lofty One that inhabiteth it. 
We make a fanciful distinction between eternity and time; 
there is no real distinction. We are in eternity at this 
moment. That has begun to be with us which never began 
with God. Our only measure of time is by the succession 
of ideas. If ideas flow fast, and many sights and many 
thoughts pass by us, time seems lengthened. If we have 
the simple routine of a few engagements, the same every 
day, with little variety, the years roll by us so fast that we 
cannot mark them. It is not so with God. There is no 
succession of ideas with Him. Every possible idea is pres- 
ent with Him now. It was present with Him ten thousand 
years ago. God's dwelling-place is that eternity which has 
neither past nor future, but one vast, immeasurable present. 

EXAMPLE. 

Disti:n^gijish between a model and an example. You 
copy the outline of a model: you imitate the spirit of an 
example. Christ is our example: Christ is not our model. 
You might copy the life of Christ: make Him a model in 
every act: and yet you might be not one whit more of a 
Christian than before. You might wash the feet of poor 
fishermen as He did, live a wandering life with nowhere to 
lay 3^our head. You might go about teaching, and never 
use any words but His words, never express a religious 
truth except in Bible language; have no home, and mix 
with publicans and harlots: then Christ would be your 
model. You would have copied His life like a picture, line 
for line, and shadow for shadow; yet you might not be 
Christ-like. 

On the other hand, you might imitate Christ, get His 
Spirit, breathe the atmosphere of thought which He 
breathed: do not one single act which He did, but every 
act in His spirit: you might be rich, whereas He was poor: 
never teach, whereas He was teaching always: lead a life 



EXCITEMENT. 73 

in all outward particulars the very contrast and opposite of 
His; and yet the spirit of his self-devotion might have sat- 
urated your whole being, and penetrated into the life of 
every act and the essence of every thought. Then Christ 
would have become your example; for we can only imitate 
that of which we have caught the spirit. 

A MAN- so thoroughly above human resentment, human 
passions, human w^eakness, does not seem to us an example. 
The nearer humanity approaches a perfect standard, the 
less does it command our sympathy. A man must be weak 
before we can feel encouraged to attempt what he has done. 
It is not the Redeemer's sinlessness, nor His unconquerable 
fidelit^^ to duty, nor His superhuman nobleness, that win 
our desire to imitate; rather His tears at the grave of 
friendship, His shrinking from the sharpness of death, and 
the feeling of human doubt which swept across His soul 
like a desolation. These make Him one of us, and therefore 
our example. 

EXCITEMENT. 

The value of excitement is, that it breaks up the old 
mechanical life which has become routine. It stirs the 
stagnancy of our existence, and causes the stream of life to 
flow more fresh and clear. The danger of excitement is 
the probability of reaction. The heart, like the body and 
the mind, cannot be long exposed to extreme tension with- 
out giving way afterward. Strong impressions are suc- 
ceeded by corresponding listless^ess. 

Excitement is the natural reward of toil ; but that is a 
healthy excitement. Felt by the philosopher, it is delicious, 
calm, and productive of valuable productions; but felt 
without mental or physical effort, ending in itself, and exist- 
ing only for the sake of itself, it is, by a just law, self- 
destructive; just as spirits maybe safely taken during hard 
exercise, but at the peril of him who takes them in a seden- 
tary life. 
4 



74 ROBERTSON S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

FAITH. 

There is nothing in all this world that ever led man on 
to real victory but faith. Faith is that looking forward to 
a future with something like certainty that raises man 
above the narrow feelings of the present. Even in this life 
he is a greater man, a man of more elevated character, 
who is steadily pursuing a plan that requires some years to 
accomplish, than he who is living by the day. Look for- 
ward but ten years, and plan for it, live for it; there is 
something of manhood, something of courage required to 
conquer the thousand things that stand in your way. And 
therefore it is that faith, and nothing but faith, gives vic- 
tory in death. It is that elevation of character which we 
get from looking steadily and forever forward till eternity 
becomes a real home to us, that enables us to look down 
upon the last struggle, and the funeral and the grave, not 
as the great end of all, but only as something that stands 
between us and the end. We are conquerors of death when 
we are able to look beyond it. 

Faith in religion is the same principle as faith in worldly 
matters, differing only in its object: it rises through suc- 
cessive stages. When, in reliance upon your promise, your 
child gives up the half-hour's idleness of to-day for the holi- 
day of to-morrow, he lives by faith: a future supersedes the 
present pleasure. When he abstains from over-indulgence 
of the appetite, in reliance upon your word that the result 
will be pain and sickness, sacrificing the present pleasure 
for fear of future punishment, he acts on faith: I do not 
say that this is a high exercise of faith — it is a very low 
one, — but it is faith. 

There is a power in the soul, quite separate from the 
intellect, which sweeps away or recognizes the marvelous, 
by which God is felt. Faith stands serenely far above the 
reach of the atheism of science. It does not rest on the 
wonderful, but on the eternal wisdom and goodness of God. 
The revelation of the Son was to proclaim a Father, not a 
mystery. No science can swee]3 away the everlasting love 
which the heart feels, and which the intellect does not even 



FAITH. 75 

pretend to judge or recognize. And he is safe from the 
inevitable decay which attends the mere barbarian worship 
who has felt that as faith is the strongest power in the 
mind of man, so is love the divinest principle in the bosom 
of God: in other words, he who adores God as known in 
Christ, rather than trembles before the Unknown — whose 
homage is yielded to Divine Character rather than to Divine 
Power. 

Religious faith ever dreams of something higher, more 
beautiful, more perfect, than the state of things with which 
it feels itself surrounded. Ever a day-future lies before it; 
the evidence for which is its own hope. Abraham, by that 
creative faith, saw the day of Christ and was glad. Joseph 
saw his. family in prosperity, even in affluence; but he felt 
that this was not their rest. A higher life than that of 
affluence, a nobler destiny than that of stagnant rest, there 
must be for them in the future, else all the anticipations of 
a purer earth and a holier world, which imagination bodied 
forth within his soul, were empty dreams, not the intuitions 
of God's Spirit. It was this . idea of perfection, which was 
*• the substance of things hoped for," that carried him far 
beyond the period of his own death and made him feel him- 
self a partaker of his nation's blessed future. 

Child of God, if you would have your thought of God 
something beyond a cold feeling of His presence, let faith 
appropriate Christ. You are as much the object of God's 
solicitude as if none lived but yourself. He has counted the 
hairs of your head. In Old Testament language, '* He has 
put your tears into His bottle." He has numbered your 
sighs and your smiles. He has interpreted the desires for 
which you have not found a name nor an utterance your- 
self. If you have not learned to say ''My Redeemer," then 
just so far as there is anything tender or affectionate in 
your disposition, you will tread the path of your pilgrimage 
with a darkened and a lonely heart; and when the day of 
trouble comes there will be none of that triumphant elas- 
ticity which enabled Job to look down, as from a rock, upon 
the surges which were curling their crests of fury at his 
feet, but could only reach his bosom with their spent spray. 



76 Robertson's liyi:n-g thoughts. 

There is a grand fearlessness in faith. He who in his 
heart of hearts reverences the good, the true, the holy — 
that is, reverences God — does not tremble at the apparent 
success of attacks upon the outworks of his faith. They 
may shake those who rested on those outworks — they do 
not move him whose soul reposes on the truth itself. He 
needs no props or crutches to support his faith. He does 
not need to multiply the objects of his awe in order to keep 
dreadful doubt away. Founded on a Rock, Faith can afford 
to gaze undismayed at the approaches of infidelity. 

To believe is to be happy; to doubt is to be wretched. 
But I will not urge that. Seventy years — and the most 
fevered brain w^ill be still enough. We will not say much 
of the w^retchedness of doubt. To believe is to be strong. 
Doubt cramps energy. Belief is power. Only so far as a 
man believes strongh^, mightily, can he act cheerfully, or do 
anything that is worth the doing. 

The faith of Thomas was not merely satisfaction about a 
fact, — it was trust in a person. The admission of a fact, 
however sublime, is not faith: we may believe that Christ is 
risen, vet not be nearer heaven. It is a Bible fact that Laz 
arus rose from the grave, but belief in Lazarus' resurrec- 
tion does not make the soul better than it was. Thomas 
passed on from the fact of the resurrection to the person of 
the risen: ''My Lord, and my God." Trust in the risen 
Saviour — that w^as the belief which saved his soul. 

Faith is that strong, buoyant confidence in God and in 
His love which gives energy and spirit to do right without 
doubt or despondency. Where God sees that, He sees the 
spring and fountain out of which all good springs: He sees, 
in short, the very life of Christ begun, and he reckons that 
to be righteousness: just as a small perennial fountain in 
Gloucestershire is the Thames, though it is yet scarcely 
large enough to float a schoolboy's boat; and just as you 
call a small seedlinof, not bic^o^er than a little almond 
peeping above the ground, an oak: for the word "justify" 
means not to be made righteous, but to reckon or account 
righteous. 



FAITH. 77 

To feel faith is the grand difficulty of life. Faith is 
a deep impression of God and God's love, and personal 
trust in it. It is easy to say " Believe, and thou shalt be 
saved," but well we know it is easier said than done. We 
cannot say how men are to get faith. It is God's gift, almost 
in the same way that genius is. You cannot work /or faith; 
you must have it first, and then \YOY^from it. 

By faith we are justified. By faith man removes moun- 
tains of difficulty. The divinest attribute in the heart of 
God is love, and the mightiest, because the most human, 
principle in the breast of man is faith. Love is heaven, faith 
is that which appropriates heaven. 

Faith ought ever to be a sanguine, cheerful thing; and 
perhaps in practical life we could not give a better account 
of faith than by saying that it is, amidst much failure, hav- 
ing the heart to trij again. Our best deeds are marked by 
imperfection; but if they really were our best, "forget the 
things that are behind," — we shall do better next time. 

Faith is a theological term rarely used in other matters. 
Hence its meaning is obscured. But faith is no strange, 
new, peculiar power, supernaturally infused by Christianity, 
but the same principle by which we live from day to day — 
one of the commonest in our daily life. 

A LIFE of religion is a life of faith; and faith is that 
strange faculty by which man feels the presence of the in- 
visible, — exactly as some animals have the power of seeing in 
the dark. That is the difference between the Christian and 
the world. 

Faith does not create a child of God any more than bap- 
tism, nor does it make a fact. It only appropriates that 
which is a fact already. 

Faith is trust. Trust is dependence on another; the 
spirit which is opposite to independence or trust in self. 
Hence where the spirit of proud independence is, faith is 
not. 



78 Robertson's livii^g thoughts. 

FAMILY. 

Never more than in the family is the true entirety of 
our nature seen. Observe how all the diversities of human 
condition and character manifest themselves in the family. 

First of all, there are the two opposite poles of masculine 
and feminine, which contain within them the entire of our 
humanity — w^hich together, not separately, make up the 
whole of man. Then there are the diversities in the degrees 
and kinds of affection. For when we speak of family affec- 
tion we must remember that it is made up of many diversi- 
ties. There is nothing more different than the love which 
the sister bears toward the brother, compared with that 
which the brother bears toward the sister. The affection 
which a man bears toward his father is quite distinct from 
that which he feels toward his mother; it is something quite 
different toward his sister; totally diverse, again, toward his 
brother. 

And then there are diversities of character. First, the 
mature w^isdom and stern integrity of the father; then the 
exuberant tenderness of the mother. And then one is brave 
and enthusiastic, another thoughtful, and another tender. 
One is remarkable for being full of rich humor, another is 
sad, mournful, even melancholy. Again, besides these, there 
are diversities of condition in life. First, there is the heir, 
sustaining the name and honor of the family; then per- 
chance the soldier, in whose career all the anxiety and 
solicitude of the family is centered; then the man of busi- 
ness, to whom they look up, trusting his advice, expecting 
his counsel; lastly, perhaps, there is the invalid, from the 
very cradle trembling between life and death, drawing out 
all the sympathies and anxieties of each member of the 
family, and so uniting them all more closely, from their 
having one common point of sympathy and solicitude. Now 
you will observe that these are not accidental, but absolutely 
essential to the idea of a family; for so far as any one of 
them is lost, so far the family is incomplete. A family made 
up of one sex alone, all brothers and no sisters; or in which 
all are devoted to one pursuit; or in which there is no di- 
versity of temper and dispositions — the same monotonous 
repeated identity — a sameness in the type of character. — 
this is not a family, it is only the fragment of a family. 



FORGIVENESS. 79 

It is possible for men to live in the same house, and par- 
take of the same meal from day to day, and from year to 
year, and yet remain strangers to each other, mistaking 
each other's feelings, not comprehending each other's char- 
acter; and it is only when the Atlantic rolls between, and 
half a hemisphere is interposed, that we learn how dear 
they are to us, how all our life is bound up in deep anxiety 
with their existence. Therefore it is the Christian feels that 
the family is not broken. 

A FAMILY is built on affinities which are natural, not arti- 
ficial; it is not a combination, but a society. 

FORGIVENESS. 

Who has not felt the load taken from his mind when the 
hidden guilt over which he had brooded long has been ac- 
knowledged, and met by forgiving human sympathy, espe- 
cially at a time when he expected to be treated with coldness 
and reproof ? Who has not felt how such a moment was to 
him the dawn of a better hope, and how the merciful judg- 
ment of some wise and good human being seemed to be the 
type and the assurance of God's pardon, making it credible. 

In Christ humanity was the perfect type of Deity, and 
therefore Christ's absolution was always the exact measure 
and counterpart of God's forgiveness. Herein lies the deep 
truth of the doctrine of His eternal priesthood — the Eternal 
Son — the humanity of the being of God — the ever-human 
mind of God. 

Settle it in your minds, the absolving power is the cen- 
tral secret of the Gospel. Salvation is unconditional; not 
an offer, but a gift; not clogged with conditions, but free as 
the air we breathe. God welcomes back the prodigal. God 
loves without money and without price. To this men reply 
gravely. It is dangerous to speak thus; it is perilous to dis- 
pense with the safeguards of restriction. Law! law! there 
is nothing like law — a salutary fear — for making men holy. 
blind Pharisee! had you ever known the spring, the life 
which comes from feeling free, the gush of gratitude with 



80 Robertson's living thoughts. 

which the heart springs to duty when all chains are shat- 
tered, and it stands fearless and free in the light, and in the 
love of God — you would understand that a large trusting 
charity, which can throw itself on the better and more gen- 
erous impulses of a laden spirit, is the safest as well as the 
most beautiful means of securing obedience. 

Sin needs forgiveness, or the Redeemer would not have 
so prayed. That it needs forgiveness we also prove, from 
the fact that it always connects itself with penalty. Years 
may separate the present from your past misconduct, but 
the remembrance of it remains; nay, more than that, even 
those errors which we did ignorantly carry with them their 
retribution; and from this we collect the fact that even 
errors, failures in judgment, need God's forgiveness. 

Christ forgiving on earth is a new truth added to that of 
God's forgiving in heaven. It is not the same truth. The 
one is forgiveness by Deity; the other is the declaration of 
forgiveness by humanity. He bade the palsied man walk, 
that they might know that " the Son of Man hath power on 
earth to forgive sins." 

No forgiveness is complete which does not join forgetful- 
ness. You forgive only so far as you forget. 

God's forgiveness, assured to us in the cross of Christ, is 
a complete remedy for sin, acting on its natural consequences 
by transformation indirectly ; on its moral results directly, 
by removing them. 

Forgiveness is the work of a long life to learn. This 
was at the close of Joseph's life. He would not have for- 
given them in youth — not when the smart was fresh — ere 
he saw the good resulting from his suffering. But years, 
experience, trial, had softened Joseph's soul. A dungeon 
and a government had taught him much; also his father's 
recent death. Do not think that any formula will teach 
this. No mere maxims got by heart about forgiveness of 
injuries, no texts perpetually on the tongue, will do this, — 
God alone can teach it: By experience; by a sense of human 



GOD. 81 

frailty; by a perception of "the soul of goodness in things 
evil"; by a cheerful trust in human nature; by a strong 
sense of God's love; by long and disciplined realization of 
the atoning love of Christ: only thus can we get that free, 
manly, large, princely spirit which the best and purest of 
all the patriarchs, Joseph, exhibited in his matured man- 
hood. 

GOD, 

With God there is no Time — it is one eternal Now. 
This is made conceivable to us by a recent writer, who has 
reminded us that there are spots in the universe which have 
not yet been reached by the beams of light which shone 
from this earth at its creation. If, therefore, we are able 
on an angeFs wings to reach that spot in a second or two 
of time, the sight of this globe would be just becoming 
visible as it was when chaos passed into beauty. A few 
myriads of miles nearer, we should be met by the picture 
of the world in the state of deluge. And so in turn would 
present themselves the spectacles of patriarchal life ; of 
Assyrian, Grecian, Persian, Roman civilization ; and, at a 
short distance from the earth, the scenes of yesterday. Thus 
a mere transposition in space would make the past present. 
And thus, all that we need is the annihilation of space to 
annihilate time. So that if we conceive a Being present 
everywhere in space, to Him all past events would be 
present. At the remotest extremity of the angePs journey, 
he would see the world's creation; at this extremity, the 
events that pass before our eyes to-day. Omnipresence in 
space is thus equivalent to ubiquity in time. And to such 
a being, demonstrably, there would be no Time. All would 
be one vast, eternal Now. 

Love in God is what love is in man; justice in God is 
what justice is in man; creative power in God is what 
creative power is in man; indignation in God is that which 
indignation is in man, barring only this, that the one is 
emotional, but the other is calm, and pure, and everlastingly 
still. It is through this humanity in the mind of God, if I 
may dare so to speak of Deity, that a revelation became 
possible to man. It was the Word that was made flesh; it 



82 Robertson's living thoughts. 

was the Word that manifested itself to man. It is in virtue 
of the connection between God and man that God made 
man in His own image; that through a long line of prophets 
the human truth of God could be made known to man, till 
it came forth developed most entirely and at large in the 
incarnation of the Redeemer. Now in this respect it will 
be observed that God stands connected with us in relation 
to the soul as "the Light which lighteth every man that 
cometh into the world." 

Most men know nothing beyond what they see. This 
lovely world is all in all to them: its outer beauty, not its 
hidden loveliness. Prosperity — struggle — sadness — it is all 
the same. They struggle through it all alone, and when 
old age comes, and the companions of early days are gone, 
they feel that they are solitary. In all this strange, deep 
world they never meet, or but for a moment, the Spirit of 
it all, who stands at their very side. And it is exactly the 
opposite of this that makes a Christian. Move where he 
will, there is a Thought and a Presence which he cannot 
put aside. He is haunted forever by the Eternal Mind. 
God looks out upon him from the clear sky, and through 
the thick darkness — is present in the rain-drop that trickles 
down the branches, and in the tempest that crashes down 
the forest. A living Redeemer stands beside him — goes 
with him — talks with him, as a man with his friend. 

Now the Spirit of God lies touching, as it were, the soul 
of man — ever around and near. On the outside of earth 
man stands with the boundless heaven above him : nothing 
between him and space — space around him and above him, 
the confines of the sky touching him. So is the spirit of 
man to the Spirit of the Ever Near. They mingle. In 
every man this is true. The spiritual in him, by which he 
might become a recipient of God, may be dulled, deadened 
by a life of sense, but in this world never lost. All men 
are not spiritual men, but all have spiritual sensibilities 
which might awake. All that is wanted is to become con- 
scious of the nearness of God. God has placed men here to 
feel after Him if haply they may find Him, albeit He he not 
far from any one of them. Our souls float in the immeas- 
urable ocean. 



GOD. 83 

Every insincere habit of mind shrivels in the face of 
God. One clear, true glance into the depths of Being, and 
the whole man is altered. The name changes because the 
character is changed. No longer Jacob The Supplanter. 
but Israel The Prince of God, — the champion of the Lord, 
who had fought ivith God and conquered; and who, hence- 
forth, will fight for God, and be His true, loval soldier: a 
larger, more unselfish name — a larger and more unselfish 
man — honest and true at last. No man becomes honest till 
he has got face to face with God. There is a certain insin- 
cerity about us all — a something dramatic. One of those 
dreadful moments which throw us upon ourselves, and strip 
off the hoUowness of our outside show, must come before 
the insincere is true. 

God is approached more nearly in that which is indefinite 
than in that which is definite and distinct. He is felt in 
awe, and wonder, and worship, rather than in clear concep- 
tions. There is a sense in which darkness has more of God 
than light has. He dwells in the thick darkness. Moments 
of tender, vaorue mvstery often brinor distinctlv the feeling 
of His presence. When day breaks and distinctness conies, 
the Divine has evaporated from the soul like morning dew. 
In sorrow, haunted by uncertain presentiments, we feel the 
Infinite around us. The gloom disperses, the world's joy 
comes again, and it seems as if God were gone — the Being 
who had touched us with a withering hand, and wrestled 
with us, yet whose presence, even when most terrible, w^as 
more blessed than His absence. It is true, even literally, 
that the darkness reveals God. Every morning God draws 
the curtain of the o-arish liorht across His eternitv, and we 
lose the Infinite. We look down on earth instead of up to 
heaven, on a narrower and more contracted spectacle — that 
which is examined by the microscope when the telescope is 
laid aside — smallness instead of vastness. '' Man goeth forth 
unto his work and to his labor till the evening"; and in the 
dust and pettiness of life we seem to cease to behold Him: 
then at night He undraws the curtain again, and we see 
how much of God and eternity the bright, distinct day has 
hidden from us. Yes, in solitary, silent, vague darkness the 
Awful (Tne is near. 



84 Robertson's living thoughts. 

Say you that God is love? Oh, but look around this 
world. The aspect of things is stern — very stern. If they 
be ruled by love, it is a love which does not shrink from 
human agony. There is a law of infinite mercy here, but 
there is a law of boundless rigor, too. Sin, and you will 
suffer, — that law is not reversed. The young, and the 
gentle, and the tender, are inexorably subjected to it. We 
would shield them if we could, but there is that which says 
they shall not be shielded. The}'' shall weep, and fade, and 
taste of mortal anguish, even as others. Carry that out into 
the next world, and you have "wrath to come." 

The life which pervades all is He in whom we live and 
move and have our being. The different gradations of life 
are more truly of the same divine essence than the hard- 
material distinctions of common minds make them. The 
life of the plant and the life of the animals and of the intel- 
lect of man are essentially allied to the higher life which 
theologically we call the divine life in the soul. And I be- 
lieve that it will some day be demonstrated that the Creator 
is much more closely united to His own works than our 
unspiritual conceptions represent Him. God is a Spirit — 
by which most people seem to mean a subtle, ethereal gas, 
imponderable, perhaps, but still not only substance, but 
matter besides, however attenuated. Now, spirit is mind; 
and I do not know what is meant by the locality of mind, 
except by saying that the universe is localized Deit}^ 

The chief knowledge which we have of God's holiness 
comes from our acquaintance with unholiness. We know 
what impurity is — God is not that. We know what in- 
justice is — God is not that. We know what restlessness, 
and guilt, and passion are, and deceitfulness, and pride, and 
waywardness, — all these we know. God is none of these. 
And this is our chief acquaintance with His character. We 
know what God is not. 

To the wise man the lightning only manifests the electric 
force which is everywhere, and which for one moment has 
become visible. As often as he sees it it reminds him that 
the lightning slumbers invisibly in the dew-drop, and in the 



GOD. .85 

mist, and in the cloud, and binds together every atom of the 
water that he uses in daily life. But to the vulgar mind 
the lightning is something unique — a something which has 
no existence but when it appears. There is a fearful glory 
in the liorhtnincr because he sees it. But there is no start- 
ling glory and nothing fearful in the drop of dew, because 
he does not know, what the thinker knows, that the flash is 
there* in all its terrors. So, in the same way, to the half 
believer a miracle is the one solitary evidence of God. With- 
out it he could have no certainty of God's existence. 

It is a dark moment when the sense of that personality 
is lost: more terrible than the doubt of immortality. For 
of the two — eternity without a personal God, or God for 
seventy years without immortality, — no one after David's 
heart would hesitate: "Give me God for life, to know and 
be known by Him." No thought is more hideous than that 
of an eternity without Him. "My soul is athirst for God.'' 
The desire for immortality is second to the desire for God. 

Not only is God everywhere, but all of God is in every 
point. Not His wisdom here and His goodness there: the 
whole truth may be read, if we had eyes, and heart, and 
time enough, in the laws of a daisy's growth. God's beauty. 
His love, His unity: nay, if you observe how each atom 
exists, not for itself alone, but for the sake of every other 
atom in the universe, in that atom or daisy you may read 
the law of the Cross itself. 

God is love and goodness. Fill the soul with goodness, 
and fill the soul with love, that is the filling it with God. 

There is in the very outset this distinction between what 
is great in God and what is great in man : To be independ- 
ent of everything in the universe is God's glory, and to be 
independent is man's shame. All that God has He has from 
Himself — all that man has he has from God. And the mo- 
ment man cuts himself off from God, that moment he cuts 
himself off from all true grandeur. 

Bring into captivity every thought to the obedience 
of Christ. Take what 1 cannot give — my heart, body, 



86 ROBERTSON'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

thoughts, time, abilities, money, health, strength, nights, 
days, youth, age — and spend them in Thy service, my 
crucified Master, Redeemer, God. Oh, let not these be mere 
words! Whom have I in heaven but Thee? and there is 
none upon earth that I desire in comparison of Thee. My 
heart is athirst for God — for the living God. When shall I 
come and appear before God? 

The place of the rainbow depends upon your standing- 
point; and I say that the conviction of the being and char- 
acter of a God depends upon your moral standing-point. To 
believe in God is simply the most difficult thing in the 
world. You must be pure before you can believe in purity; 
generous, before you can believe in unselfishness. In all 
moral truth, what you are, that is the condition of your 
belief. Only to him in whom infinite aspirations stir can an 
Infinite One be proved. 

Remember, however, that the main thing is to believe in 
God, which is the chief article of all the creeds. Our salva- 
tion does not depend upon our having right notions about 
the devil, but right feelings about God. And if you hate 
evil you are on God's side, whether there be a personal evil 
principle or not. I myself believe there is, but not so un- 
questioningly as to be able to say I think it a matter of 
clear revelation. The Bible does reveal God, and except 
with a belief in God there will and can be no goodness. 

Hearts are linked to hearts by God. The friend on 
whose fidelity you count, whose success in life flushes your 
cheek with honest satisfaction, whose triumphant career you 
have traced and read with a heart throbbing almost as if it 
were a thing alive, for whose honor you would answer as 
for your own, — that friend, given to you by circumstances 
over which you had no control, was God's own gift. 

We do not seek God — God seeks us. There is a Spirit 
pervading time and space who seeks the souls of men. At 
last the seeking becomes reciprocal — the Divine Presence is 
felt afar, and the soul begins to turn toward it. Then when 
we begin to seek God, we become conscious that God is 
seeking us. 



GOD. 87 

God is so great, so glorious, that the mind is overwhelmed 
by, and shrinks from, the contemplation of His excellence, 
unless there comes the tender, ennobling thought that we 
are the children of God, who are to become like our Father 
in heaven, whose blessed career it is to go on in an advance 
of love and duty toward Him, until we love Him as we are 
loved, and know Him almost as we are known. 

It is not chance, nor fate, which sits at the wheel of this 
world's revolutions. It was no fortuitous concourse of 
atoms which massed themselves into a world of beauty. 
It was no accidental train of circumstances which has 
brought the human race to their present state. It was a 
living God. 

With God I cannot quarrel, for I recognize the beauty 
and justice of His conditions. It is a grand comfort to feel 
that God is right, whatever and whoever else may be wrong. 
I feel St. Paul's words: " Let God be true, and every man a 
liar." 

When giving up this tiopeless and sickening work of self- 
inspection, and turning from ourselves in Christian self- 
oblivion, we gaze on God, then first the chance of consola- 
tion dawns. 

It is in these that the greatness of God consists — eternal 
in time, unlimited in space, unchangeable, pure in charac- 
ter. His serenity and His vastness arise from His own per- 
fections. 

Serve Him, love Him, live to Him, and you will be bright, 
and full of hope, and noble. 

Every day convinces me more and more that there is one 
thing, and but one, on earth worth living for, — and that is 
to do God's work, and gradually grow in conformity to His 
image by mortification, and self-denial, and prayer. When 
that is accomplished, the sooner we leave this scene of w^eary 
struggle the better, so far as we are ourselves concerned. 
Till then, welcome battle, conflict, victory! 



88 ROBERTSON'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

HAPPINESS. 

Look around this beautiful world of God's ocean dimpled 
into myriad smiles; the sky a trembling, quivering mass of 
blue, thrilling hearts with ecstasy; every tint, every form 
replete with beauty. You cannot, except willfull}', misread 
its meaning. God says, "Be glad"! Do not force young, 
happy hearts to an unnatural solemnity, as if to be happy 
were a crime. Let us hear their loud, merry, ringing laugh, 
even if sterner hearts can be glad no longer. To see innocent 
mirth and joy does the heart good. 

I LIKE sunny rooms, and sunny Truth. When I had 
more of spring and warmth I could afford to be prodigal of 
happiness; love the "darksome lawn brushed by the owlet's 
wing," and meditate for hours over decay. Now I want 
sunlight and sunshine. I desire to enter into those regions 
where cheerfulness, and truth, and health of mind and heart 
reside. 

Unquestionably, we are not masters, on our own re- 
sponsibility, of our own happiness.* Happiness is the grati- 
fication of every innocent desire; but it is not given to us 
to insure the gratification of every desire; therefore, happi- 
ness is not a duty. 

How cheaply happiness can be given! What opportuni- 
ties we miss of doing an angel's work! I remember doing 
it, full of sad feelings, passing on, and thinking no more 
about it; and it gave an hour's sunshine to a human life, and 
lightened the load of life to a human heart — for a time! 

There are transfiguration moments, bridal hours of the 
soul. 

HOME. 

The domestic affections are the alphabet of love. 

Home is the one place in all this world where hearts are 
sure of each other. It is the place of confidence. It is the 
place where we tear off that mask of guarded and suspicious 



HOME. 89 

coldness which the world forces us to wear in self-defense, 
and where we pour out the unreserved communications of 
full and confiding hearts. It is the spot where expressions 
of tenderness gush out without any sensation of awkward- 
ness and without any dread of ridicule. Let a man travel 
where he will, home is the place to which " his heart un- 
traveled fondly turns." He is to double all pleasure there. 
He is there to divide all pain. A happij home is the single 
spot of rest which a man has upon this earth for the culti- 
vation of his noblest sensibilities. 

Walk abroad and alone by night. That awful other 
world in the stillness and the solemn deep of the eternities 
above, is it your home? Those graves that lie beneath you, 
holding in them the infinite secret, and stamping upon all 
earthly loveliness the mark of frailty and change and fleet 
ingness, — are those graves the prospect to which in bright 
days and dark days you can turn without dismay? God in 
His splendors, — dare we feel with Him affectionate and fa- 
miliar, so that trial comes softened by this feeling — it is my 
Father, and enjoyment can be taken with a frank feeling; 
my Father has given it me, without grudging, to make me 
happy? All that is having a home in God. Are we at 
home there? Why, there is demonstration in our very 
childhood that we are not at home with that other world of 
God's. An infant fears to be alone, because he feels he is 
not alone. He trembles in the dark, because he is conscious 
of the presence of the world of spirits. Long before he 
has been told tales of terror, there is an instinctive dread of 
the supernatural in the infant mind. It is the instinct 
which we have from childhood that gives us the feeling of 
another world. And mark, brethren, if the child is not at 
home in the thought of that world of God's, the deep of 
darkness and eternity is around him — God's home but not 
his home, for his flesh creeps. And that feeling grows 
through life; not the fear — when the child becomes a man 
he gets over fear — but the dislike. The man feels as much 
aversion as the child for the world of spirits. 

Moral decay in the family is the invariable prelude to 
public corruption. It is a false distinction which we make 
4* 



90 ROBERTSOX'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

between public integrity and private honor. The man 
whom you cannot admit into your family, whose morals 
are corrupt, cannot be a pure statesman. Whoever studies 
history will be profoundly convinced that a nation stands 
or falls with the sanctity of its domestic ties. Rome mixed 
with Greece, and learned her morals. The Goth was at her 
gates; but she fell not till she was corrupted and tainted at 
the heart. The domestic corruption preceded the political. 
When there was no longer purity on her hearth- stones, nor 
integrity in her Senate, then, and not till then, her death- 
knell was runcr. 

HUMILITY. 

It is common to talk of the humble poor man, and the 
proud rich man. Let not these ideas be inseparably blended 
together. There is many a man who sits down to a meal 
of bread and milk on a wooden table, whose heart is as 
proud as the proudest whose birth is royal. There is 
many a one whose voice is heard in the public meeting, 
loudly descanting on legal tyranny and aristocratic in- 
solence, who in his own narrow circle is as much a tyrant 
as any oppressor who ever disgraced the throne. And 
there is many a man who sits down to daily pomp, to whom 
gold and silver are but as brass and tin, and who bears in 
the midst of it all a meek, simple spirit, and a '* heart re- 
frained as a weaned child": many a man who lives sur- 
rounded with homage, and hearing the applause and flattery 
of men perpetually, on whose heart these things fall flat 
and dead, without raising one single emotion of fluttered 
vanity. 

Christ, as a humbled Christ crucified throusfh weakness, 
yet living by the power of God. Because obedient unto 
death, therefore God also had highly exalted Him. Christ 
crucified, in opposition to the idea of Christ the Conqueror, 
or Christ the Philosopher. 

Oh that I could breathe the Spirit of Him who, when he 
was reviled, reviled not again ; when He suffered, threatened 
not! For in His case all was undeserved; but I cannot tell 



HUMANITY. 91 

how much, in my case, rashness and pride have irritated 
people. 

It is not the unjeweled finger, nor the affectation of an 
almost Quakerish simplicity of attire, nor the pedestrian 
mode of traveling, nor the scanty meal, that constitute 
humility. It is that simple, inner life of real greatness, 
which is indifferent to magnificence, and surrounded by it 
all, lives far away in the distant country of a father's home, 
with the Cross borne silently and self-sacrificingly in the 
heart of hearts. 

There are two ways in which the steam of machinery 
may find an outlet for its force: it may work, and if so it 
works silently; or it may escape, and that takes place 
loudly, in air and noise. There are two ways in which 
the spiritual energy of a man's soul may find its vent: it 
may express itself in action, silently; or in words, noisily; 
but just so much of force as is thrown into the one mode 
of expression is taken from the other. 

In Christ is magnified, not force of will, but the glory 
of a Divine humility. 

No man will acknowledge that he is vain, but almost 
any man will acknowledge that he is proud. But tried by 
the balance of the sanctuary, there is little to choose be- 
tween the two. If a man look for greatness out of God, it 
matters little whether he seek it in his own applause or in 
the applause of others. The proud Pharisee, who trusted 
in himself that he was righteous, was condemned by Christ 
as severely, and even more, than the vain Jews who " could 
not believe because they sought honor from one another, 
and not that honor which cometh from God only." It may 
be a more dazzling and a more splendid sin to be proud. 
It is not less hateful in God's sight. Let us speak God's 
word to our own unquiet, swelling, burning hearts. Pride 
ma}^ disguise itself as it will in its own majesty, but in the 
presence of the high and lofty One, it is but littleness after 
all. 



92 Robertson's living thoughts. 

IDEALS. 

High, bright, enthusiastic hopes of things impossible, 
and of things possible still, how they teemed in my im- 
agination! The ideal, of course, always transcends the 
actual, and now experience of life again, with its manifold 
struggles, " fallings from us, vanishings,'* has left a sobered, 
saddened, but unconquerable resolve to live in earnest. 

It is only in Christ that w^e find our ideal realized. 
There are times when a dark skepticism envelops our 
hearts; we turn to the world, and find that all is selfish- 
ness there; we turn to our own hearts, and there we find 
only pollution and corruption; it is when we turn to the 
Perfect One, we feel that God has once been upon this 
earth within the limits of humanity, it is in " God manifest 
in the flesh " that goodness becomes possible. 

Set before you high models. Try to live with the most 
generous, and to observe their deeds. Unquestionably, 
good men set the standard of life. 

IMAGI^^ATION. 

Imaginatio:s' is distinct from the mere dry faculty of 
reasoning. Imagination is creative — it is an immediate 
intuition; not a logical analysis — we call it popularly a 
kind of inspiration. Now imagination is a power of the 
heart. Great thoughts originate from a large heart: a 
man must have a heart, or he never could create. 

It is a grand thing, when in the stillness of the soul 
thought bursts into flame, and the intuitive vision comes 
like an inspiration; when breathing thoughts clothe them- 
selves in burning words, winged as it were with lightning; 
or when a great law of the universe reveals itself to the 
mind of Genius, and where all was darkness, his single 
word bids lio-ht be, and all is order where chaos and con- 
fusion were before. Or when the truths of human nature 
shape themselves forth in the creative fancies of one like 
the myriad-minded poet, and you recognize the rare power 



IMMORTALITY. 93 

of heart which sympathizes with, and can reproduce all that 
is found in man. 

IMMORTALITY. 

There is not a nation perhaps which does not in some 
form or other hold that there is a country beyond the 
grave where the weary are at rest. Now that which all 
men everywhere and in every age have held, it is im- 
possible to treat contemptuously. How came it to be held 
by all, if only a delusion? Here is another probability in 
the universality of belief. And yet w^hen you come to 
estimate this, it is too slender for a proof: it is only a pre- 
sumption. The universal voice of mankind is not infallible. 
It was the universal belief once on the evidence of the 
senses that the earth was stationary: the universal voice 
was wronor. The universal voice mio^ht be wrongr in the 
matter of a resurrection. It mio"ht be onlv a beautiful and 
fond dream, indulged till hope made itself seem to be a 
reality. You cannot build upon it. 

Asked from this world's standpoint — if there is no 
life beyond the grave, if there is no immortality, if all 
spiritual calculation is to end here, — why, then the mighty 
work of God is all to end in nothingness; but if this is 
only a state of infancy, only the education for eternity, in 
which the soul is to gain its wisdom and experience for 
higher work, — then to ask why such a mind is taken from 
us is just as absurd as to question why the tree of the forest 
has its first training in the nursery garden. This is but 
the nursery ground, from whence we are to be transplanted 
into the great forest of God's eternal universe. There is an 
absence of all distinction between the death of one man and 
another. The wise man dies as the fool with respect to 
circumstances. 

Narrow the prospects of man to this time-world, and it 
is impossible to escape the conclusions of the Epicurean 
sensualist. If tomorrow we die, let us eat and drink to- 
day. If we die the sinner's death, it becomes a matter of 
mere taste whether we shall live the sinner's life or not. 
But if our existence is forever, then plainly, that which is 



94 ROBERTSOI^'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

to be daily subdued and subordinated is the animal within 
us: that which is to be cherished is that which is likest 
God within us — which we have from Him. and which is 
the sole pledge of eternal being in the spirit life. 

If souls be immortal, then Christianity has been an in- 
estimable blessing: spirits have begun a sanctification here 
which will progress forever; but if souls be not immortal, 
then it is quite a question whether Christianity has blessed 
the world or not. We personally may think it has, but if 
we reject the immortality of man, there is much to be said 
on the other side. A recent writer has argued very 
plausibly that Christianity has done nothing. And if im- 
mortality be untrue, then we may almost agree with him 
w^hen we remember the persecutions, the prison and the 
torture-chamber, the religious wars and tyrannies which 
have been inflicted and carried on in the name of Christ; 
when we remember that even in this nineteenth century 
cannibalism and the torture of prisoners are still prevail- 
ing. Again, are we quite sure that Christian America, 
with her slavery, is a great advance on Pagan Eome? or 
Christian England either, with her religious hatreds and 
her religious pride? If the kingdom of God comes only 
with observation, I am not certain that w^e can show cause 
why that life of sublime devotion of St. Paul's was not a 
noble existence w^asted. 

And again, if the soul be not immortal. Christian life, 
not merely apostolic devotedness, is '' a grand impertinence.'' 
*' Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die," was the 
motto and epitaph of Sardanapalus: and if this life be all, 
we defy you to disprove the wisdom of such reasoning. 
How many of the myriads of the human race would do 
right for the sake of right, if they were only to live fifty 
years, and then die for evermore? Go to the sensualist, 
and tell him that a noble life is better than a base one, even 
for that time, and he will answer: "I like pleasure better 
than virtue: you can do as you please: for me, I will wisely 
enjoy my time. It is merely a matter of taste. By taking 
away hope of a resurrection you have dwarfed good and 
evil, and shortened their consequences. If I am only to 
live sixty or seventy years, there is no eternal right or 



IMMORTALITY. 95 

wrong. By destroying the thought of immortality I have 
lost the sense of the infinitude of evil, and the eternal 
nature of good." 

Besides, w^ith our hopes of immortality gone the value 
of humanity ceases, and people become not worth living 
for. We have not a motive strong enough to keep us from 
sin. Christianity is to redeem from evil: it loses its power 
if the idea of immortal life be taken away. 

Belief in a future life is not the result of inductive and 
inferential reasonings — such as the incomplete justice here, 
or the dissatisfaction with all earthly good — but that, rather, 
these result from the instinctive belief in immortality. 
Savages and children never doubt it: and the nearer you 
approach the instinctive state, the more indubitable it is. It 
is only when refinement, civilization and science come that 
it grows dim. The attempt to rest our intuitions on a 
scientific basis, inevitable as the attempt is, brings with it 
doubt — and you get back faith again when you quit logic 
and science, and suffer the soul to take counsel with itself, 
or, in Scripture language, " when you become again a little 
child." 

That star is now looking down on the wise men's graves; 
and. if there be no life to come, then this is the confusion: 
that mass of inert matter is pursuing its way through space, 
and the minds that watched it, calculated its movements, 
were led by it through aspiring wishes to holy adorations; 
those minds, more precious than a thousand stars, have 
dropped out of God's universe. And then God cares for 
mere material masses more than for spirits, which are the 
emanation and copy of Himself. Impossible! " God is not 
the God of the dead, but of the living." God is the father 
of our spirits. Eternity and immeasurableness belong to 
Thought alone. You may measure the cycles of that star 
by years and miles: can you bring any measurement, which 
belongs to time or space, by which you can compute the 
length or breadth or the duration of one pure thought, one 
aspiration, one moment of love? This is eternity. Noth- 
ing but thought can be immortal. 



96 ROBERTSON'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

There are some who say that to live a high life here, in 
the hope of immortality hereafter, is an unworthy object; 
that it is more noble to do good, and to act well, and be con- 
tent to perish. Strange perversion ! Is the desire of food, for 
the sake of food, selfish? Is the desire of knowledge, for 
the sake of knowledge, selfish? ISTo; they are appetites each 
with its appointed end : one a necessary appetite of the body, 
the other a noble appetite of the mind. Then, is the desire 
of immortal life, for the sake of " more life and fuller," sel- 
fish? No; rather it is the noblest, purest, truest appetite of 
the soul. It is not happiness nor reward we seek, but we 
seek for the perfection of the imperfect, — for the deep, 
abounding life of those who shall see God as He is, and shall 
feel the strong pulsations of that existence which is love, 
purity, truth, goodness: to whom shall be revealed all the 
invisible things of the Spirit in perfection! 

For what is our proof of immortality? Not the analo- 
gies of nature — the resurrection of nature from a winter 
grave — or the emancipation of the butterfly. Not even 
the testimony to the fact of risen dead; for who does not 
know how shadowy and unsubstantial these intellectual 
proofs become in unspiritual frames of mind? No; the life 
of the spirit is the evidence. Heaven begun is the living 
proof that makes the heaven to come credible. " Christ in 
you is the hope of glory." It is the eagle eye of faith 
which penetrates the grave, and sees far into the tranquil 
things of death. He alone can believe in immortality who 
feels the resurrection in him already. 

If there be a faith that cramps and enslaves the soul, it 
is the idea that this life is all. If there be one that ex- 
pands and elevates, it is the thought of immortality: and 
this, observe, is something quite distinct from the selfish 
desire of happiness. It is not to enjoy, but to he, that we 
long for. To enter into more and higher life: a craving 
which we can only part with when we sink below humanity, 
and forfeit it. 

This was the martyrs' strength. They were tortured, 
not accepting deliverance, that they might attain a better 



IMMORTALITY. 97 

resurrection. In that hope, and the knowledge of that 
truth, they were free from the fear of pain and death. 

Eternal life does not simply mean a life that lasts for- 
ever. That is the destiny of the sotil — all souls, bad as 
well as good. But the bad do not enter into this " eternal 
life.'' It is not simply the duration, but the quality of the 
life which constitutes its character of eternal. A spirit 
may live forever, yet not enter into this. And a man may 
live but for five minutes the life of Divine benevolence, or 
desire for perfectness: in those five minutes he has entered 
into the life which is eternal — never fluctuates, but is the 
same unalterably forever in the life of God. This is the 
reward. 

The fearful secret of sixty centuries has not yet found a 
voice. The whole evidence lies before us. We know what 
the greatest and wisest have had to say in favor of an im- 
mortality; and we know how, after eagerly devouring all 
their arguments, our hearts have sunk back in cold disap- 
pointment, and to every proof as we read, our lips have 
replied mournfully, that will not stand. Search through 
tradition, history, the world within you and the world with- 
out, — except in Christ there is not the shadow of a shade of 
proof that man survives the grave. 

It is no strange or unknown thing to see the spirit ripen- 
ing in exact proportion to the decay of the body. Many a 
sufferer in protracted illness feels each day more deeply the 
powers of the world to come. Many an aged one there is 
who loses, one by one, all his physical powers, and yet the 
spiritual in him is mightiest at the last. Who can read that 
ancient legend of the Apostle John carried into the Christian 
Church, able only to articulate, " Little children, love one 
another," without feeling that age and death touch not the 
Immortal Love? 

We wish for immortality. The thought of annihilation 

is horrible: even to conceive it is almost impossible. The 

wish is a kind of argument: it is not likely that God would 

have given all men such a feeling, if He bad not meant to 

5 



98 Robertson's living thoughts. 

gratify it. Every natural longing has its natural satisfac- 
tion. If we thirst, God has created liquids to gratify thirst. 
If we are susceptible of attachments, there are beings to 
gratify that love. If Ave thirst for life and love eternal, it 
is likely that there are an eternal life and an eternal love 
to satisfy that craving. 

It is only when all the rest of our human nature is 
calmed that the spirit comes forth in full energy; all the 
rest tires, the spirit never tires. Humbleness, awe, adora- 
tion, love, these have in them no weariness: so that when 
this frame shall be dissolved into the dust of the earth, and 
the mind, which is merely fitted for this time-world, learn- 
ing by experience, shall have been superseded, then, in the 
opening out of an endless career of love, the spirit will 
enter upon that sabbath of which all earthly sabbaths are 
but the shadow — the sabbath of eternity, the immortal rest 
of its Father's home. 

INDIVIDUALITY. 

Out of eight hundred millions of the human race, a few 
features diversify themselves into so many forms of counte- 
nance, that scarcely two could be mistaken for each other. 
There are no two leaves on the same tree alike; nor two 
sides of the same leaf, unless you cut and kill it. There is 
a sacredness in individuality of character; each one born 
into this world is a fresh new soul intended by his Maker 
to develop himself in a new fresh way; we are what we 
are; we cannot be truly other than ourselves. We reach 
perfection not by copying, much less by aiming at original- 
ity; but by consistently and steadily working out the life 
which is common to us all, according to the character which 
God has given us. 

There is one universe, in which each separate star differs 
from another in glory; one Church, in which a single Spirit, 
the Life of God, pervades each separate soul; and just in 
proportion as that Life becomes exalted does it enable every 
one to shine forth in the distinctness of his own separate 
individuality, like the stars of heaven. 



INFLUENCE. 99 



INFLUENCE. 



Is it not affecting to think of a human being, not sick, 
nor in pain, with his natural force unabated, calmly sitting 
down to make arrangements for what shall be when he is 
in his last long sleep? But the act of an immortal is visible 
also in that a dead man rules the world, as it were, long 
after his decease. Being dead, in a sense he yet speaketh. 
He is yet present with the living. His existence is pro- 
tracted beyond its natural span. His will is law. This is 
a kind of evidence of his immortality: for the obedience of 
men to what he has willed is a sort of recognition of his 
present being. 

However, each year as it rolls by seems to rivet with 
more enduring importance a day of anniversary — more 
especially one of an event which was the ushering into an 
eternity of either misery or joy a responsible creature. As 
boys, we have looked forward to them as the occasion of a 
holiday and juvenile ball. As men, we look back on them 
as so many waymarks on which are noted the sins and 
mercies of successive years. They were seasons of un- 
mingled pleasure — now of self-reproach and melancholy 
retrospect. Opportunities irreparably suffered to slip by — 
years of self-indulgence — bad habits formed — friends alien- 
ated — others wantonly grieved — in some instances the hour 
of reparation and reconciliation lost forever, because they 
have gone to their long home. Two lines in the frontis- 
piece of a little hymn-book, which I have not seen since five 
years old, seem branded with letters of fire on my memory: 

Oh! if she would but come again, 
I think I'd vex her so no more! 

United with all this, the reflection that we were not only 
not forwarding the eternal interests of those with whom we 
were, but actually blocking up for them the entrance to the 
already narrow path — with all this coming in a torrent on 
the memory, what can a birthday be to a reflecting being 
but a season of deep humiliation and abasement before his 
Creator, his Benefactor, and his Judge? 



100 KOBERTSOiq^'S LIYIKG THOUGHTS. 

Have we never felt the power wherewith the orator 
unites and holds together a thousand men as if they were 
but one; with flashing eyes and throbbing hearts, all atten- 
tive to his words, and by the difference of their attitudes, 
by the variety of the expressions of their countenances, tes- 
tifying to the unity of that single living feeling with which 
he had inspired them? Whether it be indignation, whether 
it be compassion, or whether it be enthusiasm, that one 
living influence made the thousand, for the time, one. 

Distinguish between the Real and the Apparent. Eli- 
jah's apparent success was in the shouts of Mount Carmel. 
His real success was in the unostentatious, unsurmised 
obedience of the seven thousand who had taken his God for 
their God. 

A lesson for all. For teachers who lay their heads down 
at night sickening over their thankless task. Eemember 
the power of indirect influences, — those which distill from a 
life, not from a sudden, brilliant effort. The former never 
fail: the latter often. There is good done of which we can 
never predicate 'the when or where. Not in the flushing of 
a pupil's cheek or the glistening of an attentive eye, nor 
in the shining results of an examination, does your real suc- 
cess lie. It lies in that invisible influence on character 
which He alone can read who counted the seven thousand 
nameless ones in Israel. 

JUDGMENT. 

Evert judgment coming of Christ is as the springing of 
a mine. There is a moment of deep suspense after the 
match has been applied to the fuse which is to fire the 
train. Men stand at a distance, and hold their breath. 
There is nothing seen but a thin, small column of white 
smoke, rising fainter and fainter, till it seems to die away. 
Then men breathe again; and the inexperienced soldier 
would approach the place thinking that the thing has been 
a failure. It is only faith in the experience of the com- 
mander, or the veterans, which keeps men from hurrying 
to the spot again — till just when expectation has begun to 
die away, the low, deep thunder sends up the column of 



LIBERTY. 101 

earth majestically to heaven, and all that was on it comes 
crushing down again in its far circle, shattered and black- 
ened with the blast. 

It is so with the world. By God's word the world is 
doomed. The moment of suspense is past: the first cen- 
turies, in which men expected the convulsion to take place 
at once; for even apostles were looking for it in their life- 
time. We have fallen upon days of skepticism. There are 
no signs of ruin yet. We tread upon it like a solid thing 
fortified by its adamantine hills forever. There is nothing 
against that but a few words in a printed book. But the 
world is mined, and the spark has fallen, and just at the 
moment when serenity is at its height "the heaven shall 
pass away with a great noise, and the elements shall melt 
with fervent heat," and the feet of the Avenger shall stand 
on the earth. 

LIBERTY. 

People talk of liberty as if it meant the liberty of doing 
what a man likes. The only liberty that a man, worthy 
the name of a man, ought to ask for, is to have all restric- 
tions, inward and outw^ard, removed which prevent his 
doing what he ought. I call that man free who is master 
of his lower appetites, who is able to rule himself. I call 
him free who has his flesh in subjection to his spirit; who 
fears doing wrong, but who fears neither man nor devil 
besides. I think that man free who has learned the most 
blessed of all truths: that liberty consists in obedience to 
the power and to the will and to the law that his higher 
soul reverences and approves. He is not free because he 
does what he likes, for in his better moments his soul pro- 
tests against the act, and rejects the authority of the passion 
which commanded him, as an usurping force, and tyranny. 
He feels that he is a slave to his own unhallowed passions. 
But he is free when he does what he ought, because there 
is no protest in his soul against that submission. 

Some people seem to think that there is no liberty in 
obedience. I tell you there is no liberty except in loyal 
obedience — the obedience of the unconstrained aftections. 
Did you never see a mother kept at home, a kind of pris- 



102 Robertson's Livi^a thoughts. 

oner, by her sick child, obeying its every wish and caprice, 
passing the night sleepless? Will you call the mother a 
slave? Or is this obedience the obedience of slavery? I 
call it obedience of the highest liberty, the liberty of love. 

Men throw off what they call the trammels of education, 
false systems, and superstitions, and then call themselves 
free: they think it a grand thing to reverence nothing; all 
seems to them either kingcraft or priestcraft, and to some 
it is a matter of rejoicing that they have nothing left either 
to respect or worship. There is a recent work in which 
the writer has tried to overthrow belief in God, the soul, 
and immortality, and proclaims this liberty as if it were a 
gospel for the race! My brother-men, this is not high 
knowledge. It is a great thing to be free from mental 
slavery, but suppose you are still a slave to your passions? 
It is a great thing to be emancipated from superstition, but 
suppose you have no religion? From all these bonds of 
the spirit Christianity has freed us; but then it has not 
left us mei^ely free from these, it has bound us to God. 
" Though there be gods many, yet to us there is but one 
God." The true freedom from superstition is free service 
to religion: the real emancipation from false gods is rev- 
erence for the true God. For high knowledge is not nega- 
tive, but positive; it is to be freed from the fear of the 
many in order to adore and love the one. 

There are two things widely different, yet often con- 
founded together — liberty and independence; and this con- 
fusion has done infinite mischief. Liberty is one thing — 
independence another : a man is free, politically, whose 
rightful energies are not cramped by the selfish, unjust 
claims of another. A man is independent, politically, when 
he is free from every tie that binds man to man. One is 
national blessedness, the other is national anarchy. Liberty 
makes you loyal to the grand law, " I ought"; independence 
puts you in a position to obey the evil law, " I will." So 
also religious freedom emancipates a man from every hin- 
drance, external and internal, which prevents his right action. 
A man is not free who is enslaved by some lust, or who is 
restrained by Church thunders or by the rules of society 



LIBERTY. 103 

from letting his intellect and conscience work truly. Every 
Christian ought to be a free man, but no Christian is or 
ought to be independent. As a member of a church, he is 
not independent of those with whom he is connected in what 
is called the communion of saints. He is not independent 
of his brethren. 

Christian liberty is internal. It resides in the deeps of 
the soul; a soul freed by faith is safe from superstition. 
He who fears God will fear nothing else. He who knows 
moral wrong to be the only evil will be free from the scru- 
pulosities which torment others. It is that free self-deter- 
mination which rules all things, which can enjoy or abstain 
at will. This spirit is expressed in "All things are yours, 
whether life or death, things present or things to come, — all 
are yours." 

Perhaps we have seen an insect or reptile imprisoned in 
wood or stone. How it got there is unknown; how the 
particles of wood in j^ears, or of stone in ages, grew round 
it is a mystery, but not a greater mystery than the ques- 
tion of how man became incarcerated in evil. At last the 
day of emancipation came. The axe-stroke was given, and 
the light came in, and the warmth; and the gauze wings 
expanded, and the eye looked bright; and the living thing 
stepped forth, and you saw that there was not its home. 
Its home was the free air of heaven. 

Christ taught that truth of the human soul. It is not in 
its right place. It never is in its right place in the dark 
prison-house of sin. Its home is freedom and the breath of 
God's life. 

It is not the shackle on the wrist that constitutes the 
slave, but the loss of self-respect; to be treated as degraded 
till he feels degraded; to be subjected to the lash till he 
believes that he deserves the lash: and liberty is to suspect 
and yet reverence self; to suspect the tendency which leaves 
us ever on the brink of fall; to reverence that within us 
which is allied to God, redeemed by God the Son, and made 
a temple of the Holy Ghost. 



104 BOBERTSOJ^'S LIVIKG THOUGHTS. 

Slavery is that which cramps powers. The worst slavery 
is that which cramps the noblest powers. A'V^orse, therefore, 
than he who manacles the hands and feet is he who puts 
fetters on the mind, and pretends to demand that men shall 
think and believe and feel thus and thus because others so 
believed and thought and felt before. 

Wherever a man would and cannot, there is servitude. 
He may be unable to control his expenditure, to rouse his 
indolence, to check his imagination. Well, he is not free. 
He may boast, as the Jews did, that he is Abraham's son, 
or any other great man's son; that he belongs to a free 
country; that he never was in bondage to any man; — but 
free in the freedom of the Son he is not. 

The liberty to which we are called in Christ is not the 
liberty of devils, the liberty of doing what we will, but the 
blessed liberty of being on the side of the law, and there- 
fore unrestrained by it in doing right. 

True freedom is to be emancipated from all false lords, 
in order to owe allegiance to all true lords ; to be free from 
the slavery of all lusts, so as voluntarily to serve God and 
right. Faith alone frees. 

Tell men that God is love ; that right is right, and wrong 
wrong: let them cease to admire philanthropy, and begin to 
love men; cease to pant for heaven, and begin to love God: 
then the spirit of liberty begins. 

He who lives in the habitual contemplation of immor- 
tality cannot be in bondage to time, or enslaved by transitory 
temptations. 

LIFE. 

Each man is a new soul in this world; untried, with a 
boundless possible before him. No one can predict what he 
may become, prescribe his duties, or mark out his obliga- 
tions. Each man's own nature has its own peculiar rules; 
and he must take up his life-plan alone, and persevere in it 
in a perfect privacy with which no stranger intermeddleth. 



LIFE. 105 

Life is a deception; its anticipations, which are God's 
promises to the imagination, are never realized; they who 
know life best, and have trusted God most to fill it with 
blessings, are ever the first to say that life is a series of 
disappointments. 

It is possible to have sublime feelings, great passions, 
even great sympathies, with the race, and yet not to love 
man. To feel mightily is one thing, to live truly and char- 
itably, another. Sin may be felt at the core, and yet not 
be cast out. Brethren, beware. See how a man may be go- 
ing on uttering fine words, orthodox truths, and yet be rot- 
ten at the heart. 

Ejs^joymext, blessedness, everything we long for, is 
wrapped up in being. Darkness, and all that the spirit recoils 
from, is contained in this idea, not to be. It is in virtue of 
this unquenchable impulse that the world, in spite of all 
the misery that is in it, continues to struggle on. What are 
war, and trade, and labor, and professions? Are they all 
the result of struggling to be great? No, my brethren, 
they are the result of struggling to be. The first thing that 
men and nations labor for is existence. Eeduce the nation 
or the man to their last resources, and only see what mar- 
velous energy of contrivance the love of being arms them 
with. Read back the pauper's history at the end of seventy 
years — his strange, sad history, in which scarcely a single 
day could insure subsistence for the morrow — and yet learn 
what he has done these long years in the stern struggle with 
impossibility to hold his being where everything is against 
him, and to keep an existence whose only conceivable charm 
is this, that it is existence. 

We can all look back to past life and see mistakes that 
have been made, — to a certain extent, perhaps, irreparable 
ones. We can see where our education was fatally misdi- 
rected. The profession chosen for you perhaps was not the 
fittest, or you are out of place, and many things might have 
been better ordered. Now on this apostolic principle it is 
wise to forget all that. It is not by regretting what is irrep- 
arable that true work is to be done, but by making the 



106 ROBEETSON'S LIYIiq"G THOUGHTS. 

best of what we are. It is not by complaining that we have 
not the right tools, but by using well the tools we have. 
What we are, and where we are, is God's providential ar- 
rangement — God's doing, though it may be man's misdoing; 
and the manly and the wise way is to look your disadvantages 
in the face, and see what can be made out of them. Life, like 
war, is a series of mistakes, and he is not the best Christian 
nor the best general who makes the fewest false steps. Poor 
mediocrity may secure that; but he is the best who wins the 
most splendid victories by the retrieval of mistakes. Forget 
mistakes: organize victory out of mistakes. 

One man is remarkable for intellectual, and another for 
moral, qualifications. One is highly sensitive, and another 
firm and unimpressionable. One has exquisite taste, and 
another capacity for business. One nation is inventive; and 
another, like the English, persevering and able to improve 
inventions. It is well for us to dwell on this, because in our 
unchristian way of viewing things we are apt to forget that 
they are gifts, because they seem so simple. But all God's 
gifts are not sublime. 

We are led through life as we are allured upon a journey. 
Could a man see his route before him — a flat, straight road, 
unbroken by bush, or tree, or eminence, with the sun's heat 
burning down upon it, stretched out in dreary monotony, — 
he could scarcely find energy to begin his task; but the un- 
certainty of what may be seen beyond the next turn keeps 
expectation alive. The view that may be seen from yonder 
summit — the glimpse that may be caught, perhaps, as the 
road winds round yonder knoll, — hopes like these, not far 
distant, beguile the traveler on from mile to mile, and from 
league to league. 

In fact, life is an education. The object for which you 
educate your son is to give him strength of purpose, self- 
command, discipline of mental energies ; but you do not re- 
veal to your son this aim of his education; you tell him of 
his place in his class, of the prizes at the end of the year, of 
the honors to be given at college. 

These are not the true incentives to knowledge; such in- 
centives are not the highest — they are even mean, and par- 



LIFE. 107 

tially injurious; yet these mean incentives stimulate and lead 
on, from day to day and from year to year, by a process the 
principle of which the boy himself is not aware of. So does 
God lead on, through life's unsatisfying and false reward, 
ever educating: Canaan first, then the hope of a Redeemer, 
then the millennial glory. 

There are two kinds of good possible to men, — one enjoyed 
by our animal being, the other felt and appreciated by our 
spirits. Every man understands more or less the difference 
between these two: between prosperity and well-doing — 
between indulgence and nobleness — between comfort and 
inward peace — between pleasure and striving after perfec- 
tion — between happiness and blessedness. These are two 
kinds of harvest, and the labor necessary for them respect- 
ively is of very different kinds. The labor which procures 
the harvest of the one has no tendency to secure the other. 

This being the true life of humanity, name it how you 
will, sanctification, consecration, devotion, sacrifice, Christ 
the representative of the race, submits Himself in the text 
to the universal law of thi^ devotion. The true law of every 
life is consecration to God: therefore Christ says, I conse- 
crate myself: else He had not been a man in God's idea of 
manhood — for the idea of man which God had been for ages 
laboring to give through a consecrated tribe and a conse- 
crated nation to the world, was the idea of a being whose 
life-law is sacrifice, every act and every thought being de- 
voted to God. 

It is a twice-told tale that the world is passing away from 
us, and there is very little new to be said on the subject. 
God has written it on every page of His creation that there 
is nothing here which lasts. Our affections change. The 
friendships of the man are not the friendships of the bo3^ 
Our very selves are altering. The basis of our being may 
remain, but our views, tastes, feelings, are no more our for- 
mer self than the oak is the acorn. The very face of the 
visible world is altering around us: we have the gray 
mouldering ruins to tell of what was once. Our laborers 
strike their ploughshares against the foundations of build- 



108 ROBERTSON'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

ings which once echoed to human mirth — skeletons of men, 
to whom life once was dear — urns and coins that remind 
the antiquarian of a magnificent empire. To day the shot 
of the enemy defaces and blackens monuments and venera- 
ble temples which remind the Christian that into the deep 
silence of eternity the Roman world, which was in its vigor 
in the days of John, has passed away. And so things are 
going. It is a work of weaving and unweaving. All passes. 
Names that the world heard once in thunder are scarcely 
heard at the end of centuries: good or bad, they pass. A 
few years ago, and ive were not. A few centuries further, 
and we reach the age of beings of almost another race. 
Nimrod was the conqueror and scourge of his far-back age. 
Tubal Cain gave to the world the iron which was the foun- 
dation of every triumph of men over nature. We have 
their names now. But the philologist is uncertain whether 
the name of the first is real or mythical, and the traveler 
excavates the sand-mounds of Nineveh to wonder over the 
records which he cannot decipher. Tyrant and benefactor, 
both are gone. And so all things are moving on to the last 
fire which shall wrap the world in conflagration, and make 
all that has been the recollection of a dream. This is the 
history of the world, and all that is in it. It passes while 
we look at it. Like as when you watch the melting tints of 
the evening sky — purple- crimson, gorgeous gold, a few pul- 
sations of quivering light, and it is all gone: " We are such 
stuff as dreams are made of." 

We are surrounded by mystery. Mind is more real than 
matter. Our souls and God are real. Of the reality of 
nothing else are we sure: it floats before us, a fantastic 
shadow-world. Mind acts on mind. The Eternal Spirit 
blends mind with mind, soul with soul, and is moving over 
us all with his mystic inspiration every hour. 

I BELIEVE that the great lesson for us to learn — everyday 
it seems more true to me — is this : God and my own soul ; 
there is nothing else in this world I will trust to for the 
truth. To those alone we are amenable for judgment — to 
Him and to His voice within us. From all else we must 
appeal. 



LIFE. 109 

The shepherd, with no apparatus besides his thread and 
beads, has lain on his back, on the starry night, mapped the 
heavens, and unconsciously become a distinguished astrono- 
mer. The peasant boy, with no tools but his rude knife, 
and a visit now and then to the neighboring town, has 
begun his scientific education by producing a watch that 
would mark the time. The blind man, trampling upon im- 
possibilities, has explored the economy of the bee-hive, and, 
more wondrous still, lectured on the laws of light. The 
timid stammerer, with pebbles in his mouth, and the roar 
of the sea-surge in his ear, has attained correctest elocution, 
and swayed as one man the changeful tides of the mighty 
masses of the Athenian democracy. All these were expedi- 
ents. It is thus in the life religious. No man ever trod 
exactly the path that others trod before him. There is no 
exact chart laid down for the voyage. The rocks and 
quicksands are shifting. He who enters upon the ocean of 
existence arches his sails to an untried breeze. He is " the 
first that ever burst into that lonely sea." Every life is a 
new life. Every day is a neiv day — like nothing that ever 
went before, or can ever follow after. No books, no 
systems, no forecast set of rules can provide for all cases; 
every case is a new case. And just as in any earthly en- 
terprise, the conduct of a campaign, or the building, of a 
bridge, unforeseen difficulties and unexpected disasters must 
be met by that inexhaustible fertility of invention which 
belongs to those who do not live to God second-hand. We 
must live to God first-hand. If we are in earnest, as 
Zaccheus Vas, we must invent peculiar means of getting 
over peculiar difficulties. 

Such is life! At first all seems given. We are ac- 
quiring associations, sensations, new startling feelings; 
then comes the time when all give pleasure or pain by 
association — by touching some old chord which vibrates 
again. And after that all is loss — something gone, and 
more is going: every day, every year — this year, like all 
others. Into that flood have fallen treasures that will not 
be recovered: intimacies have been dissolved that will not 
be reunited, aff'ections cooled, we cannot say why. Many 
a ship foundered, and the brave hearts in her will be seen 



110 ROBERTSOJSr'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

no more till the sea shall give up her dead. Many a 
British soldier fallen before Asiatic pestilence, or beneath 
the Kaffir assegai, above him the bush or jungle is waving 
green, but he himself is now where the rifle's ring is heard 
and the sabre's glitter is seen no more. Many a pew before 
me is full which at the beginning of the year was filled by 
others. Mam^ a hearth-stone is cold and many a chair is 
empty that will not be filled again. We stand upon the 
shore of that illimitable sea which never restores what has 
once fallen into it; we hear only the boom of the waves 
that throb over all — forever. 

Go to any church-yard, and stand ten minutes among 
the grave-stones; read inscription after inscription record- 
ing the date of birth and the date of death of- him who 
lies below, all the trace which myriads have left behind of 
their having done their days work on God's earth — that 
is failure or — seems so. Cast the eye down the columns 
of any commander's dispatch after a general action. The 
men fell by thousands; the officers by hundreds. Courage, 
high hope, self-devotion, ended in smoke — forgotten by the 
time of the next list of slain : that is the failure of life once 
more. Cast your eye over the shelves of a public library — 
there is the hard toil of years, the product of a life of 
thought; all that remains of it is there in a worm-eaten 
folio, taken down once in a century: failure of human 
life again. Stand by the most enduring of all human 
labors, the p^a-amids of Egypt. One hundred thousand 
men, year by year, raised those enormous piles to protect 
the corpses of the buried from rude inspection. The spoiler's 
hand has been there, and the bodies have been rifled from 
their mausoleum, and three thousand years have written 
*' failure " upon that. In all that, my Christian brethren, 
if we look no deeper than the surface, we read the grave of 
human hope, the apparent nothingness of human labor. 

Begin from belief and love, and do not coerce belief. 
Your mind is at sea. Be patient, you cannot drift on the 
wide, wide sea forever; drifting on in one direction, you 
must come into a current of wind at last bearing toward 
some land. Be sure you are in His hand, not hated but 



LIFE. Ill 

loved. Do not speak bitterly of Him, nor mistake Him. 
Perhaps I was too severe on Shelley, but it was partly be- 
cause I can make few allowances for deliberate enmity to 
God, though I may for not seeing Him; and partly because 
I fancied in many things he had done you injury. Let me 
say one word: do not begin with distasteful religious 
duties, long prayers, etc. Begin with the distinct moral 
duties. " If any one will do His will he shall know of the 
doctrine." Be simply a seeker of God and truth, and be 
sure you never can seek Him in vain; then make your- 
self at rest about the end, death, and so on. You must not 
" make haste," to borrow a phrase from a prophet. 

There is a strange jar upon the mind in the funeral, 
when the world is felt to be going on as usual. Traffic and 
pleasure do not alter when our friend lies in the upper 
chamber. The great busy world rolls on, unheeding, and 
our egotism suggests the thought, So will it be when I am 
not. This world, whose very existence seems linked with 
mine, and to subsist only in mine, will not be altered by my 
dropping out of it. Perhaps a few tears, and then all that 
follow me and love me now will dry them up again. I am 
but a bubble on the stream: here to-day and then gone. This 
is painful to conceive. It is one of the pledges of our im- 
mortality that we long to be remembered after death; it is 
quite natural. 

Let life be a life of faith. Do not go timorously about 
inquiring what others think, what others believe, and what 
others say. It seems the easiest, it is the most difficult, 
thing in life to do this — believe in God. God is near you. 
Throw yourself fearlessly upon Him. Trembling mortal, 
there is an unknown might within your soul which will 
wake when you command it. The day may come when all 
that is human, man and woman, will fall off from you, as 
they did from Him. Let His strength be yours. Be inde- 
pendent of them all now. The Father is with you. Look 
to Him, and He will save you. 

The life of man is a vagrant, changeful desultoriness, 
like that of children sporting on an enameled meadow, 



112 robertsok's liyi^-g thoughts. 

chasing now a painted butterfly, which loses its charm by 
being caught — now a wreath of mist, which falls damp 
upon the hand with disappointment — now a feather of 
thistle-down, which is crushed in the grasp. In the midst 
of all this fickleness St. Paul had found a purpose to which 
he gave the undivided energy of his soul. " This one thing 
I do — I press toward the mark." 

To live on your own convictions against the world is to 
overcome the world; to believe that what is truest in you 
is true for all; to abide by that, and not be over-anxious to 
be heard or understood, or sympathized with, certain that 
at last all must acknowledge the same, and that while you 
stand firm, the world will come round to you, that is inde- 
pendence. It is not difficult to get away into retirement, 
and there live upon your own convictions ; nor is it difficult 
to mix with men, and follow their convictions; but to enter 
into the world, and there live out firmly and fearlessly 
according to your own conscience, that is Christian greatness. 

There are three great principles in life which weave its 
warp and tvoof, apparently incompatible with each other, 
yet they harmonize, and, in their blending, create this 
strange life of ours. The first is, our fate is in our own 
hands, and our blessedness and misery is the exact result of 
our own acts. The second is, " There is a divinity that 
shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will." The third 
is, " The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the 
strong"; but time and chance happen to them all. Acci- 
dent, human will, the shaping will of Deity: these things 
make up life. 

It is not the situation which makes the man, but the 
man who makes the situation. The slave may be a free- 
man. The monarch may be a slave. Situations are noble 
or ignoble, as we make them. 

Our first life is spontaneous and instinctive. Our second 
life is reflective. There is a moment when the life sponta- 
neous passes into the life reflective. We live at first by 
instinct; then we look in, feel ourselves, ask what we are 



LIFE. 113 

and whence we came, and whither we are bound. In an 
awful new world of mystery, and destinies, and duties, we 
feel God, and know that our true home is our Father's 
house which has many mansions. 

Opportunities for doing greathj seldom occur; life is 
made up of infinitesimals. If you compute the sum of hap- 
piness in any given day, you will find that it was composed 
of small attentions, kind looks, which made the heart swell, 
and stirred into health that sour, rancid film of misanthropy 
which is apt to coagulate on the stream of our inward life, 
as surely as we live in heart apart from our fellow-creatures. 

How to lead the life divine, surrounded by temptations 
from within and from without; how to breathe freely the 
atmosphere of heaven, while the feet yet touch earth; how 
to lead the life of Christ, who shrunk from no scene of 
trying duty, and took the temptations of man's life as they 
came, or how even to lead the ordinary saintly life, win- 
ning experience from fall, and permanent strength out of 
momentary weakness, and victory out of defeat, — this is the 
problem. 

No decree of God has insured our misery. All things 
work tog^ether for good to those who love God. But the 
same things work together for evil if they do not love God. 
The sailor who yields to and works with the winds of God 
is brought by them to the haven where he would be; but if 
he try to beat up against them, the very gale that was 
carrying him to safety overwhelms him; he is crushed by 
the very destiny that was working out his salvation. 

The invisible things of God from life are clearly seen — 
and, we may add, from every department of life. Thei^e is 
no profession, no trade, no human occupation, which does 
not in its own way educate for God. 

There are people who would do great acts; but because 
they wait for great opportunities life passes, and the acts 
of love are not done at all. 
5* 



114 robertsok's living thoughts. 

Have you ever seen those marble statues in some public 
square or garden which art has finished into a perennial 
fountain, that through the lips or through the hands the 
clear water flows in a perpetual stream on and on forever; 
and the marble stands there passive, cold, making no eff'ort 
to arrest the gliding drops? It is so time flows through 
the hands of men — swift, never pausing till it has run itself 
out, and there is the man petrified into a marble sleep, not 
feeling what is passing away forever. 

LOVE. 

There is no man who does not feel toward one or two 
at least, in this world, a devotion which all the bribes of the 
universe would not be able to shake. We have heard the 
story of that degraded criminal who, when sentence of 
death was passed upon him, turned to his accomplice in 
guilt, in whose favor a verdict of acquittal was brought in, 
and in glorious self-forgetfulness exclaimed, " Thank God, 
you are saved!" The savage and barbarous Indian, whose 
life has been one unbroken series of cruelty and crime, will 
submit to a slow, lingering, torturing death, rather than 
betray his country. Now, what shall we say to these 
things? Do they not tell of an indestructible something in 
the nature of man, of which the origin is Divine? — the 
remains of a majesty which, though it may be sullied, can 
never be entirely lost? 

Love is universal. It is interested in all that is human: 
not merely in the concerns of its own family, nation, sect, 
or circle of associations. Humanity is the sphere of its 
activity. 

It is not the mere instinct of lovingness which makes the 
Christian: to love the soul in Christ, imputing righteousness 
to it as God does, knowing the powers it has in it to produce 
good — feeling what it should be, and what it may become, 
and loving it as Christ loved it: this is the Christian char- 
ity. Hold fast to love. If men wound your heart, let them 
not sour or imbitter it; let them not shut up or narrow it; 
let them only expand it more and more, and be able always 
to say with St. Paul, "My heart is enlarged." 



LOVE. 115 

Redemption is this — to forget self in God. Does not 
the mother forget herself for a time in the child; the loyal 
man in his strong feelings of devotion for this sovereign? 
So does the Christian forget himself in the feeling that he 
has to live here for the performance of the will of God. 

There are two ways of reaching truth, — by reasoning it 
out and by feeling it out. All the profoundest truths are 
felt out. The deep glances into truth are got by love. 
Love a man, that is the best way of understanding him; 
feel a truth, that is the only way of comprehending it. 

In spite of all the seeming cruelties of this life ; in spite 
of the clouded mystery in which God has shrouded Himself; 
in spite of pain and the stern aspect of human life and the 
gathering of thicker darkness and more solemn silence 
round the soul as life goes on, simply to believe that God is 
love, and to hold fast to that, as a man holds on to a rock 
with a desperate grip when the salt surf and the driving 
waves sweep over him and take the breath away ; — I say 
that is the one fight of Christian life, compared with which 
all else is easy: when we believe that, human aifections 
are easy. It is easy to be generous, and tolerant, and 
benevolent, when we are sure of the heart of God, and 
when the little love of this life, and its coldnesses, and its un- 
returned affections, are more than made up to us by the cer- 
tainty that our Father's love is ours. But when we lose 
sight of that, though but for a moment, the heart sours, and 
men seem no longer worth the loving; and wrongs are mag- 
nified, and injuries cannot be forgiven, and life itself drags 
on, a mere death in life. A man may doubt anything and 
everything, and still be blessed, provided only he holds fast 
to that conviction. Let all drift from him like sea-weed on 
life's ocean. So long as he repcpses on the assurance of the 
eternal faithfulness of the Eternal Charity, his spirit at least 
cannot drift. 

Love is its own perennial fount of strength. The strength 
of affection is a proof not of the worthiness of the object, 
but of the largeness of the soul which loves. Love de- 
scends, not ascends. The might of a river depends not on 



116 ROBERTSON'S LIVIKG THOUGHTS. 

the quality of the soil through which it passes, but on the 
inexhaustibleness and depth of the spring from which it 
proceeds. The greater mind cleaves to the smaller with 
more force than the other to it. A parent loves the child 
more than the child the parent; and partly because the 
parent's heart is larger, not because the child is worthier. 
The Saviour loved His disciples infinitely more than His 
disciples loved Him, because his heart was infinitely larger. 
Love trusts on — ever hopes and expects better things ; and 
this, a trust springing from itself and out of its own deeps 
alone. 

Christian love is not the dream of a philosopher, sitting 
in his study, and benevolently wishing the world were bet- 
ter than it is, congratulating himself, perhaps, all the time 
on the superiority shown by himself over other less amiable 
natures. Injure one of these beaming sons of good-humor, 
and he bears malice, — deep, unrelenting, refusing to forgive. 
But give us the man who, instead of retiring to some small, 
select society, or rather association, where his own opinions 
shall be reflected, can mix with men where his sympathies 
are unmet, and his tastes are jarred, and his views trav- 
ersed, at every turn, and still can be just, and gentle, and 
forbearing. Give us the man who can be insulted and not 
retaliate; meet rudeness and still be courteous; the man 
who, like the Apostle Paul, buffeted and disliked, can yet 
be generous, and make allowances. 

The love of God is the love of man expanded and puri- 
fied. It is a deep truth that we cannot begin with loving 
God: we must begin with loving man. It is an awful com- 
mand, " Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart 
and soul and mind." It is awful and impossible at first. 
Interrogate the child's conscience: he does not love God su- 
premely; he loves his mother, and his sister, and his brother 
more. Now this is God's plan of nature. Our special 
human affections are given us to expand into a diviner 
charity. We are learning " by a mortal yearning to as- 
cend." Our affections wrap themselves round beings who 
are created in God's image; then they expand, widen in 



LOVE. 117 

their range; become less absorbed, more calm, less passion- 
ate, more philanthropic. They become more pure, less self- 
ish. Love was given, encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for 
this end * * * that self might be annulled. The testi- 
mony of St. John is decisive on this point. To him we ap- 
peal as to the apostle who knew best what love is. His love 
to God was unearthly, pure, spiritual; his religion had 
melted into love. Let us listen to his account: "No man 
hath seen God at any time.'' " If we love one another, God 
dwelleth in us, and his love is perfected in us." " He that 
loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love 
God whom he hath not seen? " 

According to him the thought of the invisible God is 
intolerable. It would be shorn of its dazzling splendor by 
being exhibited in our brethren. So we can gaze on the 
reflected sunlight on the moon. According to him, it is 
through the visible that we appreciate the invisible — 
through the love of our brother that we grow into the love 
of God. 

An awful day is coming to us all — the day of Christ. A 
day of triumph, but of judgment too. Terrible language 
describes it: "The sun shall be turned into darkness and 
the moon into blood." God shall be felt as He never has 
been yet. How shall we prepare for that august sight? 
Not by unnatural, forced efforts at loving Him whom no 
eye can see and live; but by much persistence in the ap- 
pointed path of our com mon affections, our daily intercourse, 
the talk man holds with man in the hourly walk of the 
world's intercourse. By being true to our attachments. 
Let not a humble Christian be over-anxious if his spiritual 
affections are not as keen as he would wish. The love of 
God is the full-blown flower of which the love of man is the 
bud. To love man is to love God. To do good to man will 
be recognized hereafter as doing good to Christ. These are 
the Judge's words: "Verily, I say unto you, inasmuch as ye 
did it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye did it 
unto me." 

Expand the heart and you enlarge the intellect. Touch 
the soul with love, and then you touch the lips with hal- 



118 Robertson's living thoughts. 

lowed fire, and make even the stammering tongue speak the 
words of living eloquence. 

A Christian is what the world seems to be. Love gives 
him a delicate tact which never offends, because it is full of 
sympathy. It discerns far off what would hurt fastidious 
feelings, feels with others, and is ever on the watch to an- 
ticipate their thoughts. And hence the only true, deep re- 
finement — that which lies not on the surface, but goes deep 
down into the character — comes from Christian love. 

The cross of Christ — a system that is not to be built upon 
selfishness, nor upon blood, nor upon personal interest, but 
upon love. Love not self — the cross of Christ, and not the 
mere working out of the ideas of individual humanity. 

Earth has not a spectacle more glorious or more fair to 
show than this — love tolerating intolerance; charity cover- 
ing, as with a veil, even the sin of the lack of charity. 

Love is a habit. God has given to us the love of relations 
and friends, the love of father and mother, brother, sister, 
friend, to prepare us gradually for the love of God. 

« 

The yoke of Christ is easy, the burden of Christ is light; 
but it is not light to everybody. It is light when you love 
it, and no man who has sinned much can love it all at once. 

Many a man is actively benevolent, charitable among 
the poor, full of schemes and plans for the benefit of others, 
and yet utterly deficient in that religious sense which 
accompanies the Christian grace of love. 

The love whereof the Bible speaks, and of which we have 
but one perfect personification — viz., in the lif5*of Christ — 
is the desire for the best and true blessedness of the being 
loved. It wishes the well-being of the whole man — body, 
soul, and spirit; but chiefly spirit. 

Love gives itself. The mother spends herself in giving 
life to her child; the soldier dies for his country; nay, even 



LOVE. 119 

the artist produces nothing destined for immortality, noth- 
ing that will Hve, except so far as he has forgotten himself, 
and merged his ver}^ being in his work. 

The sacred cause in which He fell was love to the human 
race: "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man give 
his life for his friends." 

Not, Glory to the strong, but " Blessed are the pure in 
heart, for they shall see God." Not, " The Lord is a man of 
war, Jehovah is His name," but " God is Love." In Christ 
not intellect, but love, is consecrated. 

He is most dear to the heart of Christ, of course, who 
loves most, because he has most of God in him, and that 
love comes through missing none of the preparatory stejDS 
of affection, given us here as Primer lessons. 

Man is to be made one with God, not by soaring intellect, 
but by lowly love. 

Human love is but the faint type of that surpassing bless- 
edness which belongs to those who love God. 

The highest moment known on earth by the merely 
natural, is that in which the mysterious union of heart 
with heart is felt. Call it friendship — love — what you will, 
that mystic blending of two souls in one, when self is lost 
and found again in the being of another; when, as it were 
moving about in the darkness and loneliness of existence, 
we suddenly come in contact with something, and we find 
that spirit has touched spirit. This is the purest, serenest 
ecstasy of the merely human — more blessed than any sight 
that can be presented to the eye, or any sound that can be 
given to the ear; more sublime than the sublimest dream 
ever conceived by genius in its most gifted hour, when the 
freest way was given to the shaping spirit of imagination. 

When bereavement has left you desolate, what sub- 
stantial benefit is there which makes condolence acceptable? 
It cannot replace the loved ones you have lost. It can be- 



120 Robertson's living thoughts. 

stow upon yon nothing permanent. But a warm hand has 
touched yours, and its thrill told you that there was a living 
response there to 3^our emotion. One look, one human 
sigh, has done for you more than the costliest present could 
convey. 

And it is for want of remarking this that the effect of 
public charity falls often so far short of the expectations of 
those who give. The springs of men's generosity are dried 
up by hearing of the reiDining and the envy and the dis- 
content which have been sown by the general collection and 
the provision establishment among cottages w^here all was 
harmony before. The famine and the pestilence are met by 
abundant liberality; and the apparent return for this is 
riot and sedition. But the secret lies all in this. It is not 
in channels such as these that the heart's gratitude can 
flow. Love is not bought by money, but by love. There 
has been all the machinery of a public distribution: but 
there has been no exhibition of individual, personal interest. 
The rich man who goes to his poor brother's cottage, and 
without affectation of humility, naturally, and with the 
respect which man owes to man, enters into his circum- 
stances, inquiring about his distresses, and hears his homely 
tale, has done more to establish an interchange of kindly 
feeling than he could have secured by the costliest present, 
by itself. 

The religion of Christ is not a law, but a spirit — not a 
creed, but a life. To the one motive of Love God has 
entrusted the whole work of winning the souls of His re- 
deemed. The heart of man was made for love, — pants and 
pines for it: only in the love of Christ, and not in re- 
strictions, can his soul expand. Now it was reserved for 
One to pierce, with the glance of intuition, down into the 
springs of human action, and to proclaim the simplicity of 
its machinery. "Love," said the apostle after him, "Love 
is the fulfilling of the law." 

And when that new spirit was in the world, see how 
straightway it created a new thing. Men before that had 
traveled into foreign countries: the naturalist to collect 
specimens, the historian to accumulate facts, the philoso- 



LOVE. 121 

pher to hive up wisdom, or else he had stayed in his cell or 
grove to paint pictures of beautiful love. But the spectacle 
of an Apostle Paul crossing oceans not to conquer king- 
doms, not to hive up knowledge, but to impart life; not to 
accumulate stores for self, but to give, and to spend him- 
self, — was new in the history of the world. The celestial 
fire had touched the hearts of men, and their hearts flamed; 
and it caught, and spread, and would not stop. On they 
went, that glorious band of brothers, in their strange enter- 
prise, over oceans and through forests, penetrating into 
the dungeon, and to the throne, — to the hut of the savage 
feeding on human flesh, and to the shore lined with the 
skin-clad inhabitants of these far isles of Britain. Read 
the account given by Tertullian of the marvelous rapidity 
with which the Christians increased and swarmed, and you 
are reminded of one of those vast armies of ants which 
move across a country in irresistible myriads, drowned by 
thousands in rivers, cut ofl" by fire, consumed b}' man and 
beast, and yet fresh hordes succeeding interminably to sup- 
ply their place. A new voice was heard, a new yearning 
upon earth; man pining at being severed from hisl^rother, 
and longing to burst the false distinctions whicli had kept 
the best hearts from each other so long — an infant cry of 
life — the cry of the young Church of God. 

In all ages Love is the truth of life. Men cannot injure 
us except so far as they exasperate us to forget ourselves. 
No man is really dishonored except by his own act. Cal- 
umny, injustice, ingratitude, — the only harm these can do 
us is by making us bitter or rancorous, or gloomy; by shut- 
ting our hearts, or souring our aftections. We rob them of 
their power if they only leave us more sweet and forgiving 
than before. And this is the only true victory. We win 
by love. Love transmutes all curses, and forces them to 
rain down in blessings. Out of the jealousy of his brothers 
Joseph extracted the spirit of forgiveness. Out of Poti- 
phar's weak injustice, and out of the machinations of dis- 
appointed passion, he created an opportunity of learning 
meekness. Our enemies become unconsciously our best 
friends when their slanders deepen in us heavenlier graces. 
6 



122 KOBERTSON'S LIYIIS'G THOUGHTS. 

Let them do their worst; they only give us the God-like 
victory of forgiving them. 

Hold fast to love. Though men should rend your heart, 
let them not embitter or harden it. We win by tenderness: 
we conquer by forgiveness. Oh, strive to enter into some- 
thing of that large celestial charity which is meek, endur- 
ing, unretaliating, and which even the overbearing world 
cannot withstand forever. Learn the new commandment 
of the Son of God. Not to love merely, but to love as He 
loved. Go forth in this spirit to your life-duties: go forth, 
children of the Cross, to carry everything before you, and 
win victories for God* by the conquering power of a love 
like His. 

MAN. 

Our nature is kindred with that of God; for if man has 
not a nature kindred to God's, then a demand such as that, 
"Be ye the children of" — that is, like — "God," is but a 
mockery of man. We say, then, in the first place, that in 
the truest sense of the word man can be a creator. The 
beaver makes its hole, the bee makes its cell; man alone has 
the power of creating. The mason makes, the architect 
creates. In the same sense that we say God created the 
universe, we say that man is also a creator. The creation 
of the universe was the Eternal Thought taking reality. 
And thought taking expression is also a creation. When- 
ever, therefore, there is a living thought shaping itself in 
word or in stone, there is there a creation. And therefore 
it is that the simplest effort of what we call genius is prized 
infinitely more than the most elaborate performances which 
are done by mere workmanship, and for this reason, that 
the one is produced by an effort of power which we share 
with the beaver and the bee, that of snaking, and the other 
by a faculty and power which man alone shares with God 

No man is sufficient for himself. Every man must go 
out of himself for enjoyment. Something in this universe 
besides himself there must be to bind the affections of every 
man. There is that within us which compels us to attach 
ourselves to something outward. The choice is not this: 



MAN. 123 

love, or be without love. You cannot give the pent-up 
steam its choice of moving or not moving. It must move 
one way or the other — the right way or the wrong way. 
Direct it rightly, and its energy rolls the engine-wheels 
smoothly on their track: block up its passage, and it bounds 
away, a thing of madness and ruin. Stop it you cannot; 
it will rather burst. So it is with our hearts. There is a 
pent-up energy of love, gigantic for good or evil. Its right 
way is in the direction of our Eternal Father; and then, 
let it boil and pant as it will, the course of the man is 
smooth. Expel the love of God from the bosom — what 
then? Will the passion that is within cease to burn? Nay. 
Tie the man down — let there be no outlet for his affections 
— let him attach himself to nothing, and become a loveless 
spirit in this universe, and then there is what we call a 
broken heart: the steam bursts the machinery that contains 
it. Or else let him take his course, unfettered and free, 
and then we have the riot of worldliness — a man with 
strong affections thrown off the line, tearing himself to 
pieces, and carrying desolation along with him. Let us 
comprehend our own nature, ourselves, and our destinies. 
God is our rest, the only one that can quench the fever of 
our desire. God in Christ is what we want. When men 
quit that, so that "the love of the Father is not in them," 
then they must perforce turn aside: the nobler heart to 
break with disappointment — the meaner heart to love the 
worldliness of the world. 

Man is but a learner — a devout recipient of a revela- 
tion — here to listen with open ear devoutly for that which 
he shall hear; to gaze and watch for that which he shall see. 
Man can do no more. He cannot create truth, he can only 
bear witness to it; he has no proud right of private judg- 
ment, he can only listen and report that which is in the 
universe. If he does not repeat and witness to that, he 
speaketh of his own, and forthwith ceaseth to be true. He 
is a liar, and the Jatlier of it, because he creates it. Each 
man in his vocation is in the world to do this : as truly as it 
was said by Christ may it be said by each of us, even by 
those from whose trades and professions it seems most alien, 



124 Robertson's living thoughts. 

" To this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the 
world, to bear witness to the truth." 

The architect is here to be a witness. He succeeds only 
so far as he is a witness, and a true one. The lines and. 
curves, the acanthus on his column, the proportions, all are 
successful and beautiful only so far as they are true — the 
report of an eye which has lain open to God's world. If he 
build his lighthouse to resist the storm, the law of imitation 
bids him build it after the shape of the spreading oak which 
has defied the tempest. If man construct the ship which is 
to cleave the waters, calculation or imitation builds it on 
the model upon which the Eternal Wisdom has already 
constructed the fish's form. 

The artist is a witness to the truth, or he will never 
attain the beautiful. So is the agriculturist, or he will 
never reap a harvest. So is the statesman, building up a 
nation's polity on the principles which time has proved true, 
or else all his work crumbles down in revolution; for 
national revolution is only the divine rejection stamped on 
the social falsehood — which cannot stand. In every depart- 
ment of life man must work truly — as a witness. He is 
born for that, nothing else; and nothing else can he do. 
Man, the son, can do nothing of himself, but that which he 
seeth God, the Father, do. ^ 

With respect to our moral and spiritual capacities, we 
remark that they are not only indefinite, but absolutely 
infinite. Let that man answer who has ever truly and 
heartily loved another. That man knows what it is to par- 
take of the infinitude of God. Literally, in the emphatic 
language of the Apostle John, he has felt his immortality — 
" God in him, and he in God." For that moment infinitude 
was to him not a name, but a reality. He entered into the 
infinite of time and space, which is not measured by daj^s, 
or months, or years, but is alike boundless and eternal. 

A MAN, as man, is the child of God; and one child is 
brother to another, whether they are conscious of their 
heritage relationship or not. 

The capacity of ennui is one of the signatures of man's 
immortality. It is his very greatness which makes inaction 



MAN. 125 

misery. If God had made us only to be insects, with no 
nobler care incumbent on us than the jDreservation of our 
lives, or the pursuit of happiness, we might be content to 
flutter from sweetness to sweetness, and from bud to flow^er. 
But if men with souls live only to eat and drink and be 
amused, is it any wonder if life be darkened with despond- 
ency? 

There is no man whose doings are worth anything, who 
has not felt that he has not yet done that which he feels 
himself able to do. While he was doing it he was kept up 
by the spirit of hope, but when done the thing seemed to 
him worthless; and therefore it is that the author cannot 
read his own book again, nor the sculptor look with pleasure 
upon his finished work. 

Everything fights against a man who is not on God's 
side, while he who does right, not because it is profitable, 
but because it is right, who loves the truth, arms himself 
with God's power, the universe is on his side, and he will 
surely know what the apostle meant when he said in the 
Epistle to the Romans, "All things work together for good 
to those that love God." 

Thus did the Christians of old triumph. This was the 
history of the contest of one hundred and twenty weak men 
against the world: they were overwhelmed by sarcasm, 
exposed to lions, hurried to destruction, the earth was 
drenched with their blood; but a single fisherman could 
stand before the assembled rulers and say, " Whether it be 
good to obey you rather than God, judge ye." And eighteen 
centuries in the advance of Christianity has plowed the re- 
sult into the history of the world. Because they were weak, 
therefore they were strong. Our own strength must yield 
to pain. In the Middle Ages, those who had studied the arts 
of torture knew well that the man who could face the lion 
in the amphitheater, or sit boldly on the heated iron seat, 
would be overcome by the simple dropping of water, day 
by day,^n the same place, like the firm rock corroded by 
the waves of ages. So in the sense of a moral uprightness, 
we feel it impossible to do a thing abhorent to our princi- 
ples. "Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this thing?" 



126 robertsok's living thoughts. 

No, not a dog, but only a man — a man, yet relying on him- 
self. Resign yourself passively to God; there is no other 
strength that lasts. Give up self-will. Lie like a child in 
your Father's hands, and then you will say in the depths of 
your spirit, '^When I am weak, then am I strong"; "I am 
evil, but Thou art righteous; clothe me with Thy righteous- 
ness, and I shall be saved." 

To a man of middle life, existence is no longer a dream, 
but a reality. He has not much more new to look forward 
to, for the character of his life is generally fixed by that 
time. His profession, his home, his occupations, will be for 
the most part what they are now. He will make few new 
acquaintances — no new friends. It is the solemn thought 
connected with middle age that life's last business is begun 
in earnest; and it is then, midway between the cradle and 
the grave, that a man begins to look back and marvel with 
a kind of remorseful feeling that he let the days of youth 
go by so half- enjoyed. It is the pensive autumn feeling, — 
it is the sensation of half sadness that we experience when 
the longest day of the year is past, and every day that fol- 
lows is shorter, and the lights fainter, and the feebler shadows 
tell that nature is hastening with gigantic footsteps to her 
winter grave. So does man look back upon his youth. 
When the first gray hairs become visible, — when the unwel- 
come truth fastens itself upon the mind, that a man is no 
longer going up the hill, but down, and that the sun is al- 
ready westering, — he looks back on things behind. Now, 
this is the natural but is it the Christian tone of feeling? 
In the spirit of this verse, we may assuredly answer, No. 
We who have an inheritance incorruptible and undefiled, 
and that fadeth not away, what have we to do with things 
past? When we were children we thought as children. 
But now there lies before us manhood, with its earnest 
work; and then old age, and then the grave, and then home. 

Man is the weakest, and yet the strongest, of living crea- 
tures, — because he obeys the laws of nature: he has the 
strength of the lion, the speed of the antelope; he bids the 
sun be his painter, and the lightning carry his messages, 



MARRIAGE. 127 

and the seas bear his merchandise : because he is the servant, 
therefore he is the master. 

Only a man can be the express image of God's person. 
Only through a man can there be a revelation ; only through 
a perfect man a perfect revelation. Here is the principle of 
the Incarnation. And God's forgiveness is unintelligible, 
actually incredible, except through the human forgiveness 
which we see. 

MARRIAGE. 

Marriage is, of all earthly unions, almost the only one 
permitting of no change but that of death. It is that en- 
gagement in which man exerts his most awful and solemn 
power — the power of responsibility which belongs to him 
as one that shall give account — the power of abnegating the 
right to change — the power of parting with his freedom — 
the power of doing that which in this world can never be 
reversed. And yet it is perhaps that relationship which is 
spoken of most frivolously, and entered into most carelessly 
and most wantonly. It is not a union merely between two 
creatures, it is a union between two spirits; and the inten- 
tion of that bond is to perfect the nature of both, by supple- 
menting their deficiencies with the force of contrast, giving 
to each sex those excellencies in which it is naturally defi- 
cient; to the one strength of character and firmness of moral 
will, to the other sympathy, meekness, tenderness. And just 
so solemn, and just so glorious as these ends are for which 
the union was contemplated and intended, just so terrible 
are the consequences if it be perverted and abused; for 
there is no earthly relationship which has so much power to 
ennoble and to exalt. 

There may be circumstances in which it is the duty of a 
Christian man to be married, there are others in which it 
may be his duty to remain unmarried. For instance, in 
the case of a missionary it may be right to be married 
rather than unmarried; on the other hand, in the case of a 
pauper, not having the wherewithal to bring up and main- 
tain a family, it may be proper to remain unmarried. You 
will observe, however, that no fixed law can be laid down 



128 ROBERTSON'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

upon this subject. We cannot say marriage is a Christian 
duty; nor celibacy is a Christian duty; nor that it is in 
every case the duty of a missionary to be married, or of a 
pauper to be unmarried. All these things must vary ac- 
cording to circumstances, and the duty must be stated not 
universally, but with reference to those circumstances. 

MEDITATIOIsr. 

No man forgets what the mind has dwelt long on. It is 
not by a passing glance that things become riveted in the 
memory. It is by forcing the memory to call them up 
again and again in leisure hours. It is in the power of 
meditation to bring danger in its reality so vividly before 
the imagination that the whole frame can start instinctively 
as if the blow were falling, or as if the precipice were near. 
It is in the power of meditation so to engrave scenes of 
loveliness on a painter's eye, that he transfers to the can- 
vas a vivid picture that was real to him before it was real 
to others. It is in the power of meditation so to abstract 
the soul from all that is passing before the bodily eye, that 
the tongue shall absently speak out the words with which 
the heart was full, not knowing that others are standing 

by. 

I ExvY you the society of the eagles. I would give anything 
for leisure to think quietly, and get out of the jar of 
human life, and the perpetual necessity of talking, which 
consumes an amount of energy which should be thrown 
on action that few suspect or dream of. Count yourself 
happy that your life-calling is to do and not to chatter. 
*' Speech is of silver, silence of gold," says the German prov- 
erb; and the talker is, to my mind, by necessity, the 
smallest of human souls. His soul must ever dwiftdle, 
dwindle, dwindle, for he utters great feelings in words in- 
stead of acts, and so satiates his need of utterance, the need 
of all. 

It is good for a man to get alone, and then in silence 
think upon his own death, and feel Jbow time is hurrying 
him along: that a little while ago and he was not, — a little 



MEDITATION-. 129 

while still and he will be no more. It is good to take the 
Bible in his hands, and read those passages at this season of 
the year which speak of the Coming, and the end of all, till 
from the printed syllables there seems to come out some- 
thing that has life, and form, and substance in it, and all 
things that are passing in the world group themselves in 
preparation for that, and melt into its outline. 

Meditation is partly a passive, partly an active, state. 
Whoever has pondered long over a plan which he is anxious 
to accomplish, without distinctly seeing at first the way, 
knows what meditation is. The subject itself presents itself 
in leisure moments spontaneously: but then all this sets the 
mind at work — contriving, imagining, rejecting, modifying. 
It is in this way that one of the greatest of English en- 
gineers, a man uncouth and unaccustomed to regular dis- 
cipline of mind, is said to have accomplished his most mar- 
velous triumphs. He threw bridges over almost imprac- 
ticable torrents, and pierced the eternal mountains for his 
viaducts. Sometimes a difficulty brought all the work to a 
pause; then he would shut himself up in his room, eat 
nothing, speak to no one, abandon himself intensely to the 
contemplation of that on which his heart was set; and at 
the end of two or three days would come forth serene and 
calm, walk to the spot, and quietly give orders which seemed 
the result of superhuman intuition. This was meditation. 

Meditation is often confounded with something which 
only partially resembles it. Sometimes we sit in a kind of 
day-dream, the mind expatiating far away into vacancy, 
whilst minutes and hours slip by, almost unmarked, in 
mere vacuity. This is not meditation, but reverie, — a state 
to which the soul resigns itself in pure passivity. 

I SOMETIMES believe that the expression of communion is 
much more rich and varied where the presence is only that 
of mind, than when friends are together, and hour after 
hour passes, each taking for granted that all which he 
desires to say is understood. 

It is not the number of books you read, nor the variety, 
of sermons you hear, nor the amount of religious conversa- 



130 kobertsok's liyikg thoughts. 

tion with which you mix, but it is the frequency and ear- 
nestness with which you meditate on these things, till truths 
which may be in them become your own and part of your 
own being, that insures spiritual growth. 

MINISTRY. 

Ours should be a ministry whose words are not com- 
pacted of baldness, but boldness; whose very life is out- 
spokenness, and free fearlessness: a ministry which has no 
concealment, no reserve ; which scorns to take a via media 
because it is safe in the eyes of the world; which shrinks 
from the weakness of a mere cautiousness, but which exults 
even in failure, if the truth has been spoken, with a joyful 
confidence. For a man who sees into the heart of things 
speaks out not timidly, nor superstitiously, but with a brow 
unveiled, and with a speech as free as his spirit. " The 
Truth has made him free." 

This, I do not say is, but ought to be, the spirit of ever}^ 
minister of Christ, — to feel that nothing can reward him for 
such efforts as he may have been permitted to make — 
nothing, except the grace of God received, and life moulded 
in accordance with it. No deference, no love, no enthu- 
siasm manifested for him, can make up for this. Far be- 
yond all evil or good report, his eye ought to be fixed on 
one thing — God's truth, and the reception of it. 

That a ministry full of imperfection and blind darkness 
should do any good is a source to me of ever new wonder. 
That one in which words and truth, if truth come, wrung 
out of mental pain and inward struggle, should now and 
then touch a corresponding chord in minds with which, 
from invincible and almost incredible shyness, I rarely 
come in personal contact, is not so surprising, for I suppose 
the grand principle is the universal one — we can only heal 
one another with blood, — whether it comes from the agony 
itself, or the feeble and meaner pains of common minds and 
hearts. If it were not for such rewards and consolations 
unexpectedly presenting themselves at times, the Christian 
ministry would be, at least to some minds, and in the pres- 
ent day, insupportable. 



MI]SriSTRY. 131 

The dignity of a minister and the majesty of a man con- 
sists not in "most reverend," or "most noble," prefixed to 
his name; not in exempting himself from the common lot, 
and affecting not to mix with mean occupations and persons; 
nor yet in affecting that peculiar spirituality which is above 
human joys, and human pleasures, and human needs. But 
it lies in this, — in being not superhuman, but human; in 
being through and through a man, according to the Divine 
idea; a man whose chief privilege it is to be a minister — 
that is, a servant, a follower of Him who "came not to be 
ministered unto, but to minister, and to give His life a 
ransom for many." 

If he will not interfere with abuses, but leave things as 
they are; if he will lash only the vices of an age that is 
gone %, and the heresies of other churches; if he will teach, 
not the truth that is welling up in his own soul, but that 
which the conventionalism of the world pronounces to be 
the truth — then shall there be shown to him a certain con- 
sideration; not the awful reverence accorded to the priest, 
nor the affectionate gratitude yielded to the Christian min- 
ister, but the half-respectful, condescending patronage which 
comes from men who stand by the church as they would 
stand by any other old time-honored institution; who would 
think it extremely ill-bred to take God's name in vain in the 
presence of a clergyman, and extremely unmanly to insult 
a man whose profession prevents his resenting indignities. 

For ministers, again — what is ministerial success? 
Crowded churches — full aisles — attentive congregations — 
the approval of the religious world — much impression pro- 
duced? Elijah thought so; and when he found out his 
mistake, and discovered that the applause on Carmel sub- 
sided into hideous stillness, his heart well-nigh broke wnth 
disappointment. Ministerial success lies in altered lives 
and obedient humble hearts: unseen work recognized in the 
judgment-day. 

What is a public man's success? That which can be 
measured by feast-days and the number of journals which 
espouse his cause? Deeper, deeper far must he work who 



132 ROBERTSON'S LIYIJSTG THOUGHTS. 

works for eternity. In the eye of that, nothing stands but 
gold — real work: all else perishes. 

Get below appearances, below glitter and show. Plant 
your foot upon reality. Not in the jubilee of the myriads 
on Carmel, but in the humble silence of the hearts of the 
seven thousand, lay the proof that Elijah had not lived in 
vain. 

The pulpit is not to be degraded into the engine of a 
faction. Far, far above such questions, it ought to preserve 
the calm dignity of a voice which speaks for eternity, and 
not for time. If possible, not one word should drop by 
which a minister's own political leanings can be discovered. 

The ministry is not to be entered lightly, nor without 
much and constant prayer for direction; but if a man's 
heart be set to glorify his Lord with the best service his 
feeble mind and body can offer, there can be nothing com- 
parable to the ministry. I have already known some min- 
isterial trials, and I foresee more — much hardness and 
much disappointment; but I may tell you from experience 
that you would take nothing that earth has to offer in 
exchange for the joy of serving Christ as an accredited 
ambassador. 

Mii^isterial success is not shown now by the numbers who 
listen. Not mere impression, but altered character, marks 
success. Not by startling nor by electrifying congregations, 
but by turning men from darkness unto light, from the 
power of Satan unto God, is the work done. 

Therefore the whole work of the Christian ministry con- 
sists in declaring God as reconciled to man ; and in beseech- 
ing with every variety of illustration, and every degree of 
earnestness, men to become reconciled to God. It is this 
which is not done. All are God's children by right] all are 
not God's children in fact. 

The minister's work is spiritual; the physician's tem- 
poral. But if the former neglect physical needs, or the 
latter shrink from spiritual opportunities on the plea that 



MORALITY. 133 

the cure of bodies, not of souls, is his work, so far they 
refuse to imitate their Master. 

No one can feel more deeply than I do the deficiencies, 
the faults, the worthlessness of the ministry of which you 
have spoken so kindly and so warmly. Whatever eyes 
have scanned those deficiencies, I will answer for it that 
none have scanned them so severely as my own. Others 
may have detected its faults more keenly, no one has felt 
them as bitterly as I have. 

To live by trust in God — to do and say the right be- 
cause it is lovely — to dare to gaze on the splendor of the 
naked truth, without putting a false veil before it to 
terrify children and old women by mystery and vague- 
ness, — to live by love, and not by fear, — that is the life of 
a true, brave man. 

It is not a clergyman's business to think for his congre- 
gation, but to help them to judge for themselves. 

To bring the soul face to face with God, and supersede 
ourselves, that is the work of the Christian ministry. 

MORALITY. 

Morality is not religion, but it is the best soil on which 
religion grows. He who lives an honest, sincere, honorable 
life, and has strong perceptions of moral right and moral 
wrong, may not have reached the highest stages of spiritu- 
alit}^; he may "know only the baptism of John"; he may 
aim as yet at nothing higher than doing his duty well, " ac- 
cusing no man falsely, being content with his wages," giving 
one coat out of two to the poor; and 3^et that man, with 
scanty theology and small spiritual experience, may be a 
real " disciple " in the school of Christ, and one of the chil- 
dren of the Highest. 

Nay, it is the want of this preparation which so often 
makes religion a sickly plant in the soul. Men begin with 
abundance of spiritual knowledge; they understand well 
the " scheme of salvation "; they talkof religious privilege. 



134 _ ROBERTSON'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

and have much religious liberty; they despise the formal 
spirit and the legal spirit. But if the foundation has not 
been laid deep in a perception of the eternal difference 
between right and wrong, the superstructure will be but 
flimsy. 

The temptation is to live content with the standard of a 
man's owm profession or society; and this is the real differ- 
ence betw^een the worldly man and the religious man. He 
is the worldling who lives below that standard, or no higher; 
he is the servant of God who lives above his age. 

When man comes to front the everlasting God, and look 
the splendor of His judgments in the face, personal integ- 
rity, the dream of spotlessness and innocence, vanish into 
thin air: your decencies, and your church-goings, and your 
regularities, and your attachment to a correct school and 
party, your gospel formulas of sound doctrine — what is all 
that, in front of the blaze of the wrath to come? 

NATURE. 

Let us not depreciate what God has given. There is a 
rapture in gazing on this wondrous world. There is a joy 
in contemplating the manifold forms in which the All- 
Beautiful has concealed His essence — the Living Garment 
in which the Invisible has robed His mvsterious loveliness. 
In every aspect of Nature there is joy; whether it be the 
purity of virgin morning, or the somber gray of a day of 
clouds, or the solemn pomp and majesty of night; whether 
it be the chaste lines of the crystal, or the waving outline of 
distant hills, tremulously visible through dim vapors; the 
minute petals of the fringed daisy, or the overhanging form 
of mysterious forests. It is a pure delight to see, 

I WAS struck by the singular beauty of the sky. Two 
mighty continents of cloud stretched from above me in 
parallel lines toward the horizon above the sea, where they 
seemed to meet. A river of purest blue, broad above my 
head, narrow by perspective in the distance, ran between 
them, seeming to lave their shores. Each of them had a 



NATURE. 135 

rim or edge of bright gold, as if the river were rippling 
and glistening on the banks ; and innumerable islets of gold 
were dotted along both shores. The parallelism of them, 
producing that effect of perspective which you see in an 
avenue of trees, gave a strong perception of the boundless- 
ness of the distance into which they stretched away. Look- 
ing at sky and clouds, 3^ou scarcely estimate distance. The 
vault seems very measurable, and it does not occur to you 
that clouds which appear only a few yards in length are 
really acres and acres of vapor. This combination of forms, 
however, forced me to realize the immensity of space, and a 
deeper sense of grandeur and loveliness came to me than I 
have felt for many weeks. It has always been so. When 
I have not lyerfect union with humanity, I find in trees and 
clouds, and forms and colors of things inanimate, more that 
is congenial, more that I can inform with my own being, 
more that speaks to me, than in my own species. There 
is something in the mere posture of looking up which gives 
a sense of grandeur; and that, I suppose, is the reason why 
all nations have localized heaven there, and peopled the sky 
with Deity. 

I NEVER, I think, felt the freshness of the world, and the 
truth that everv morning is a new dav — a universe un- 
broken and fresh for effort and discovery — so much as two 
mornings ago by the sea-side. I do not mean that, even 
for a moment, it gave a conception of a fresh career or 
burst in life for me, but only that it gave me a conviction 
of a fact. To-day all is changed, but again T feel the ad- 
vantage people here have from seeing the innumerable 
moods in which the sea presents itself. The wind is driving 
and moaning wildly — the sea all white on the beach — dark 
and cleft into grand chasms beyond — and almost lost in not 
a dense but a semi-transparent mist toward the horizon; 
the carts and flys which go past the dining-room window 
are seen, as I sit, low down, as if they were on the brink of 
a precipice; large gulls, with their wild, strange scream, 
heard every now and then, as they go down perpendicularly 
to the surface of the wave that has brought up their food, 
or floating about on the mist, colorless like shadows. "And 
I would that my tongue could utter the thoughts that 



136 ROBERTSOISr'S LIYIISTG THOUGHTS. 

arise in me." For at this moment my heart is in perfect 
unison with all this scene. I look and look, until I wish I 
had no will. 

The world is but manifested Deity. That which lies 
beneath the surface of all appearance, the cause of all mani- 
festation, is God. So that to forbid the love of all this 
world is to forbid the love of that by which God is known 
to us. The sounds and sights of this lovely world are but 
the drapery of the robe in which the Invisible has clothed 
Himself. Does a man ask what this world is, and why man 
is placed in it? It was that the invisible things of Him 
from the creation of the world might be clearly seen. Have 
we ever stood beneath the solemn vault of heaven when the 
stars were looking down in their silent splendor, and not 
felt an overpowering sense of His eternity? When the 
white lightning has quivered in the sky, has that told us 
nothing of power, or only something of electricity? Eocks 
and mountains, are they here to give us the idea of mate- 
rial massiveness, or to reveal the conception of the Strength 
of Israel? When we take up the page of past history, and 
read that wrong never prospered long, l3ut that nations 
have drunk one after another the cup of terrible retribu- 
tion, can we dismiss all that as the philosophy of history, or 
shall we say that through blood and war and desolation we 
trace the footsteps of a presiding God, and find evidence 
that there sits at the helm of this world's affairs a strict 
and rigorous and most terrible justice? To the eye that 
can see, to the heart that is not paralyzed, God is here. The 
warnings which the Bible utters against the things of this 
world bring no charge against the glorious world itself. 
The world is the glass through which we see the Maker. 
But what men do is this: They put the dull quicksilver of 
their own selfishness behind the glass, and so it becomes not 
the transparent medium through which God shines, but the 
dead opaque which reflects back themselves. Instead of 
lying with open eye and heart to receive^ we project our- 
selves upon the world and give. So it gives us back our own 
false feelinp^s and nature. Therefore it brino-s forth thorns 
and thistles; therefore it grows weeds — weeds to us; there- 
fore the lightning burns with wrath, and the thunder mutters 



NATURE. 137 

vengeance. By all which it comes to pass that the very 
manifestation of God has transformed itself: — the lust of 
the flesh, and the lust of the eye, and the pride of life; and 
all that is in the world is no loncrer of the Father, but is of 
the world. 

God's character, again, nay, God Himself, to its would be 
nothing if it were not for the creation, which is the great 
symbol and sacrament of His presence. If there were no 
light, no sunshine, no sea, no national and domestic life, no 
material witness of His being, God would be to us as good 
as lost. The Creation gives us God: forever real in Himself, 
by Creation he becomes a fact to tis. 

I LOVE those passages in the Bible which speak of this 
universe as created by the Word of God. For the Word is 
the expression of the thought; and the visible universe is 
the thought of the Eternal, uttered in a word or form in 
order that it might be intelligible to man. And for an 
open heart and a seeing eye it is impossible to gaze on this" 
creation without feeling that there is a spirit at work, a 
living Word endeavoring to make Himself intelligible, 
laboring to express himself through symbolism and indirect 
expression, because direct utterance is impossible; partly on 
account of the inadequacy of the materials, and partly in 
consequence of the dullness of the heart, to which the in- 
finite Love is speaking. And thus the word poet obtains 
its literal significance of maker, and all visible things 
become to us the chanted poem of the universe. 

There is a close analogy between the world of nature 
and the world of spirit. They bear the impress of the same 
hand; and hence the principles of nature and its laws are 
the types and shadows of the Invisible. Just as two books, 
though on different subjects, proceeding from the same pen, 
manifest indications of the thought of one mind, so the 
worlds, visible and invisible, are two books written by the 
same finger, and governed by the same idea; or rather, 
they are but one book, separated into two only by the nar- 
row range of our ken. 
6* 



138 robertso:n"'s liyiiitg thoughts. 

It was a wild day, with driving clouds, drizzling rain, 
and lurid gleams of sunshine at intervals; but warm. It 
was rather fine to see the black and lead-colored clouds 
drifting over the steep sides of the downs, sometimes so 
dark and solemn in their march that I felt a kind of awe 
creeping over me. I am very fond of a driving sky, when 
it is not monotonous, and when the attitudes of the clouds 
vary a good deal, — some sweeping quite low and only just 
topping the hills, others sailing more slowly far above, and 
with tracts of clouds between these. The variety of color, 
the great diversity of speed, give a great charm to such an 
aerial effect: it impresses you more with the idea of super- 
natural life than when a surface of cloud is drawn at one 
uniform speed across the sky. Coming home, the heavens 
cleared brightly toward the setting sun, while all the rest 
was denser and more leaden by the contrast. Orange flakes 
and lines were shot across a clear sea-green sky, passing 
into blue, but made green where the yellow mingled with 
the blue, without any red to keep the two from blending. 
But it was the wildness of the whole, and the recklessness 
with which the whole air seemed animated, that gave the 
day its peculiar character, and power of exciting interest. 
I sat and read, and watched effect after effect, until the air 
and I seemed friends. 

I WISH that nature could do her own healthy work upon 
all our hearts. I could conceive a marvelously healing 
power to come from opening the soul like a child's, to 
receive spontaneously, without effort, the impressions of the 
unliving — and yet how living! — world around us with all 
the awe that accompanies them. 

One impulse from a vernal wood 

Will teach you more of man, 
Of moral evil and of good, 

Than all the sages can. 

Perhaps no man can attain the highest excellence who is 
insensible to sensuous beauty. A sense of earthly beauty 
may, and often does, lead to softness, voluptuousness and 
defilement of heart; but its right result is to lead on as a 
stepping-stone to the sense of a higher beauty. Sensuous 



NATURE. 139 

beauty leaves the heart unsatisfied; it gives conceptions 
which are infinite, but it never gives or realizes the in- 
finite. 

For human beauty is a sight 

To sadden rather than delight, 

Being the prelude of a lay 

Whose burden is decay. 

Still it leads on to the infinite. It answers partly to a sense 
which it does not satisfy, but leaves you craving still, and, 
because craving, therefore seeking. The true objective of 
that sense is moral beauty; and by degrees we find and feel, 
as the outward fades and crumbles away, that there is a 
type of real beauty hidden under its seeming. Through 
the sensuous we perceive the supersensuous; through the 
visible, the invisible loveliness. Through disappointment at 
the unreal phantom, we learn to believe in and live for the 
unchangeable. No man knows the highest goodness who 
does not feel beauty. 

I SAY a flower is more precious than gold or jewels — 
not simply as precious, but more precious, just because it 
has no intrinsic value, and because it will so soon wither. 
Its withered leaves are more treasured than a costly gem, 
and more sacred because they have not two kinds of value, 
but only one. Such gifts are as disembodied spirits — all 
spirit, and pure. 

All somber thoughts pass away beneath the genial influ- 
ence of this serene, cloudless sky. What a soft, pure, 
pearly blue! and the white smoke rises up into it in slow 
and most indolent wreaths, as if it were resolved to enjoy 
itself and recline upon cushions of summer air, robed in 
loosest, thinnest morning drapery of gauze. 

Does not every fresh morning that succeeds a day of 
gloom and east wind seem to remind us that for a living 
spirit capable, because living, of renovation, there can be 
no such thing as " failure," whatever a few past years may 
seem to say? 

Some years ago, on a moonless, but clear and starry 
night, I saw the aurora in a form quite different from its 



140 KOBERTSOK^S LIYIi^-G THOUGHTS. 

usual one — streaks, or rather flakes, of pale, pure, white 
light moving slowly and solemnly, exactly as if they were 
crystallizing over a broad band of red, which spanned the 
zenith like the reflection of a town in flames. The softer 
light gradually bathed the fiercer one in its own pure glow, 
till it blended with it into a translucent rose flush. Har- 
monized, and yet contrasted with the quietness of an un- 
clouded summer's night sky, it was thrillingly beautiful, 
and to me, not knowing what it was, mysterious too, almost 
awful; yet the softest, holiest thing I ever beheld. 

The highest pleasure of sensation comes through the eye. 
She ranks above all the rest of the senses in dignity. He 
whose eye is so refined by discipline that he can repose with 
pleasure upon the serene outline of beautiful form, has 
reached the purest of the sensational raptures. 

God's glory is at work in the growth of the vine and the 
ripening of the grape, and the process by which grape-juice 
passes into wine. It is not more glory, but only glory more 
manifested, when water at his bidding passes at once into 
wine. 

I HAVE been sitting out to look at this lovely night, with 
a pale pearly sky, into, not at, which you look, till you have 
pierced into the forever. Oh! for the "sea-psalm" and 
"the tender grace of a day which is dead," and never can 
come back! These are the moments when we feel the 
strange union we have with apparently unconnected exist- 
ence; yet not the moments when we most strongly realize 
our immortality. For that, I think, one impulse of human 
aff'ection or sympathy is more potent. 

I HAVE no doubt that God has so constructed nature as 
to be an appropriate symbol of the Highest. I believe it 
has a sacramental power, even. But then the harmony of 
mind with the All is a difi'erent thing, and less definite than 
the sense of harmony with living, imperfect human beings, 
struggling together toward God, sinful and weak, which is 
the idea of a church. The universe exalts, but I do not 
know that it distinctly elicits the consciousness of guilt. 



OBEDIENCE. 141 

All this universe is God's blessed sacrament, the channel 
of his Spirit to your soul. 

The dew-drop that glitters on the end of every leaf after 
a shower, is beautiful even to a child; but I suppose that to 
a Herschel, who knows that the lightning itself sleeps with- 
in it, and understands and feels all its mysterious connec- 
tions with earth, and sky, and planets, it is suggestive of a 
far deeper beauty. 

Men look at nature, but they do not look through it up 
to nature's God. 

OBEDIENCE. 

This universe is goverened by laws. At the bottom of 
everything here there is a law. Things are in this way 
and not that: we call that a law or condition. All de- 
partments have their own laws. By submission to them, 
you make them your own. Obey the laws of the body — 
such laws as say. Be temperate and chaste: or of the mind — 
such laws as say. Fix the attention, strengthen by exercise; 
and then their prizes are yours — health, strength, pliability 
of muscle, tenaciousness of memory, nimbleness of im- 
agination, etc. Obey the laws of your spiritual being, and 
it has its prizes too. For instance, the condition or law of 
a peaceful life is submission to the law of meekness: 
" Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth." 
The condition of the Beatific vision is a pure heart and 
life: ''Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see 
God." To the impure, God is simply invisible. The con- 
dition annexed to a sense of God's presence — in other 
words, that without which a sense of God's presence cannot 
be — is obedience to the law^s of love: "If we love one 
another, God dwelleth in us, and His love is perfected in 
us." The condition of spiritual wisdom and certainty in 
truth is obedience to the will of God, surrender of private 
will: ''If any man will do His will, he shall know of the 
doctrine, whether it be of God, or whether I speak of 
myself." 



142 robertsok's living thoughts. 

Obedience to a law above you, subjugates minds to you 
who never would have yielded to mere will. '* Rule thy- 
self, thou rulest all." 

Love God and He will dwell with you. Obey God and 
He will reveal the truths of His deepest teaching to your 
soul. 

Reverence, love, meekness, contrition, obedience, — these 
conditions having taken place, God enters into the soul, 
whispers His secret, becomes visible, imparts knowledge 
and conviction. 

Now these laws are universal and invariable — they are 
subject to no caprice. There is no favorite child of nature 
who may hold the fire-ball in the hollow of his hand and 
trifle with it without being burnt: there is no selected 
Child of Grace who can live an irreg^ular life without un- 
rest, or be proud, and at the same time have peace; or in- 
dolent, and receive fresh inspiration; or remain unloving 
and cold, and yet see and hear and feel the things which 
God hath prepared for them that love Him. 

Love is manifested in obedience — Love is the life of 
which obedience is the form. " He that hath my command- 
ments and keepeth them, he it is that loveth me. * * * He 
that loveth me not keepeth not my sayings." Now here can 
be no mistake. Nothing can be Love to God which does not 
shape itself into obedience. We remember the anecdote of 
the Roman commander who forbade an engagement with 
the enemy, and the first transgressor against whose prohibi- 
tion was his own son. He accepted the challenge of the 
leader of the other host, met, slew, spoiled him, and then in 
triumphant feeling carried the spoils to his father's tent. 
But the Roman father refused to recoofnize the instinct 
which prompted this as deserving of the name of Love — 
Disobedience contradicted it, and deserved death: — weak sen- 
timent, what was it worth? 



OLD AGE. 143 



OLD AGE. 



Our feelings do not weaken as we go on in life ; emotions 
are less shown, and we get a command over our features 
and our expressions; but the man's feelings are deeper than 
the boy's. It is length of time that makes attachment. 
We become wedded to the sights and sounds of this lovely 
world more closely as years go on. 

Young men, with nothing rooted deep, are prodigal of 
life. It is an adventure to them, rather than a misfortune, 
to leave their country forever. With the old man it is like 
tearing his own heart from him. And so it was that when 
Lot quitted Sodom the younger members of his family went 
on gladly. It is a touching truth; it was the aged one who 
looked behind to the home which had so many recollections 
connected with it. And therefore it is, that when men ap- 
proach that period of existence when they must go, there 
is an instinctive lingering over things which they shall 
never see again. Every time the sun sets, every time the 
old man sees his children gathering round him,, there is a 
filling of the eye with an emotion that we can understand. 
There is upon his soul the thought of parting, that strange 
wrench from all we love, which makes death (say what 
moralists will of it) a bitter thing. 

It is a degrading thing to enjoy husks till there is no 
man to give them. It is a base thing to resolve to give to 
God as little as possible, and not to serve Him till you must. 

The awful feelings about Life and God are not those 
which characterize our earlier years. It is quite natural 
that in the first espousals of the soul in its freshness to God, 
bright and hopeful feelings should be the predominant or the 
only ones. Joy marks, and ought to mark, early religion. 
Nay, by God's merciful arrangement, even sin is not that 
crushing thing in early life which it sometimes becomes 
in later years, when we mourn not so much a calculable 
number of sinful acts, as a deep pervading sinfulness. Re- 
morse does not corrode with its evil power then. Forgive- 
ness is not only granted, but consciously and joyfully felt. It 



144 ROBERTSON'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

is as life matures, that the weight of life, the burden of this 
unintelligible world, and the mystery of the hidden God, are 
felt. 

CLiNomo to life is* no proof that a man is still longing 
for the world. We often cling to life the more tenaciously 
as years go on. The deeper the tree has struck its roots into 
the ground, the less willing it is to be rooted up. But there 
is many a one who so hangs on just because he has not the 
desperate hardihood to quit it, nor faith enough to be " will- 
ing to depart/' The world and he have understood each 
other; he has seen through it; he has ceased to hope any- 
thing from it. The love of the Father is not in him, but 
" the lust of the world " has passed away. 

The austerity that comes after life's experience is more 
healthy, because more natural^ than that which begins it. 
When it begins life it is the pouring of the new wine into 
the old weak wine-skins, which burst; and the young heart, 
cheated out of its youth, indemnifies itself by an attempt 
to realize the feelings which were denied it by a double 
measure of indulgence in age. An unlovely spectacle! 
Can anything be more melancholy than the spectacle of one 
who is trying- to be young, and unable to descend gracefully 
and with dignity into the vale of years ? There is a fine 
tomb of, I think, Turenne, at Strasburg. An open grave 
lies before him ; Death at his side, touching him with his 
dart; and the warrior descends, with a lofty step and sad- 
dened brow, but a conqueror still, because tha act is so evi- 
dently his own and embraced by his own will, into the sep- 
ulchre. 

Manhood in the Christian life is a better thing than boy- 
hood, because it is a riper thing; and old age ought to be a 
brighter and a calmer and a more serene thing than man- 
hood. There is a second youth for man, better and holier 
than his first, if he will look on and not back. There is a 
peculiar simplicity of heart and a touching singleness of 
purpose in Christian old age, which has ripened gradually 
and not fitfully. It is then that to the wisdom of the ser- 
pent is added the harmlessness of the dove ; it is then that 



PATIENCE. 145 

to the firmness of manhood is joined almost the gentleness 
of wQmanhood; it is then that the somewhat austere and 
sour character of growing strength, moral and intellectual, 
mellows into the rich ripeness of an old age, made sweet 
and tolerant by experience; it is then that man returns to 
first principles. There comes a love more pure and deep 
than the boy could ever feel; there comes a conviction, with 
a strength beyond that which the boy could ever know, 
that the earliest lesson of life is infinite, Christ is all in all. 

It is a spectacle for men and angels, when a man has 
become old in feeling and worn out before his time. Know 
we none such among our own acquaintance? Have the 
young never seen those aged ones who stand among them 
in their pleasures, almost as if to warn them of what they 
themselves must come to at last? Have they never marked 
the dull and sated look that they cast upon the whole scene, 
as upon a thing which they would fain enjoy and cannot? 
Know you what you have been looking on? A sated world- 
ling — one to whom pleasure was rapture once, as it is to 
you now. Thirty years more, that look and that place will 
be yours: and that is the way the world rewards its 
veterans: it chains them to it after the "lust of the 
world " has passed away. 

PATIENCE. 

In all the works of God there is a conspicuous absence 
of haste and hurry. All that He does ripens slowly. Six 
slow days ajid nights of creative force before man was 
made: two thousand years to discipline and form a Jewish 
people: four thousand years of darkness and ignorance and 
crime before the fullness of the time had come, when He 
could send forth His Son: unnumbered ages of war before 
the thousand years of solid peace can come. Whatever 
contradicts this Divine plan must pay the price of haste — 
brief duration. All that is done before the hour is come 
decays fast. All precocious things ripened before their time 
wither before their time: precocious fruit, precocious minds, 
forced feelings. " He that believeth shall not make haste." 
7 



146 ROBERTSOI^'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

Man must strike soon if he would strike at all; for op- 
portunities pass away from him, and his victinv may 
escape his vengeance by death. There is no passing of 
opportunity with God, and it is this which makes his long- 
suffering a solemn thing. God can wait, for he has a w^hole 
eternity before Him in which he may strike. 

The Son of God lived till thirty in an obscure village of 
Judea, unknown; then came forth a matured and perfect 
man — with mind and heart and frame in perfect balance 
of humanity. It is a divine lesson ! I would I couid say 
as strongly as I feel deeply. Our stimulating artificial cul- 
ture destroys depth. Our competition, our nights turned into 
days by pleasure, leave no time for earnestness. We are 
superficial men. Character in the world w^ants root. 

We do not reach spirituality of character by spasmodic, 
unnatural efforts to crush the nature that is within us, but 
by slow and patient care to develop and disengage it from 
its evil. It is not angelic but human excellence at which 
we are to aim; nor can we "be perfect as our Father is per- 
fect," except in our degree. " Every man in his own order."' 

If the husbandman, disappointed at the delay which en- 
sues before the blade breaks the soil, were to rake awav the 
earth to examine if germination were going on, he would 
have a poor harvest. He must have " long patience, till he 
receive the early and the latter rain.*" The winter frost 
must mellow the seed lying in the genial bosom of the 
earth; the rains of spring must swell it, and the suns of 
summer mature it. So with you. It is the v/ork of a long 
life to become a Christian. Many, oh, many a time are we 
tempted to say, " I make no progress at all. It is only 
failure after failure. Nothing grows." Now look at the 
sea when the flood is coming in. Go and stand by the sea- 
beach, and you will think that the ceaseless flux and reflux 
is but retrogression equal to the advance. But look again 
in an hour's time, and the whole ocean has advanced. Every 
advance has been beyond the last, and every retrograde 
movement has been an imperceptible trifle less than the 
last. This is progress; to be estimated at the end of hours, 



PEACE. 147 

not minutes. And this is Christian progress. Many a 
fluctuation — many a backward motion, with a rush at times 
so vehement that all seems lost; but if the eternal work be 
real, every failure has been a real gain, and the next does 
not carry us so far back as we were before. Every advance 
is a real gain, and part of it is never lost. Both when we 
advance and when we fail, we gain. We are nearer to God 
than we were. The flood of spirit-life has carried us up 
hicrher on the everlastincr shores, where the waves of life 
beat no more, and its fluctuations end, and all is safe at last. 
" This is the faith and patience of the saints." 

Oh, be brave and wait! These are dark days — lonely 
days — and our unbelieving impatience cannot bear to wait, 
but must rashly, and by impetuous steps of our own, plunge 
after the ignis fatuus of light. Peace at once! Light at 
once ! I cannot wait my time, and I will not ! 

PEx^CE. 

There is no peace except there is the possibility of the 
opposite of peace, although now restrained and controlled! 
You do not speak of the peace of a grain of sand, because 
it cannot be otherwise than merely insignificant, and at 
rest. You do not speak of the peace of a mere pond ; you 
speak of the peace of the sea, because there is the opposite 
of peace implied, there is power and strength. And this, 
brethren, is the real character of the peace in the mind 
and soul of man. Oh! we make a great mistake when we 
say there is strength in passion, in the exhibition of emo- 
tion. Passion, and emotion, and all those outward manifes- 
tations, prove, not strength, but weakness. If the passions 
of a man are strong, it proves the man himself is weak if 
he cannot restrain or control his passions. The real 
strength and majesty of the soul of man is calmness, the 
manifestation of strength; "the peace of God" ruling; the 
word of Christ saying to the inward storms, " Peace! " and 
there is " a great calm."" 

There are several things called peace which are by no 
means Divine or Godlike peace. There is peace, for example, 



148 Robertson's living thoughts. 

in the man who lives for and enjoys self, with no nobler 
aspiration goading him on to make him feel the rest of 
Grod; that is peace, but that is merely the peace of toil. 
There is rest on the surface of the caverned lake, which no 
wind can stir; but that is the peace of stagnation. There 
is peace amongst the stones which have fallen and rolled 
down the mountain's side, and lie there quietly at rest; but 
that is the peace of inanity. There is peace in the hearts of 
enemies who lie together, side by side, in the same trench 
of the battle-field, the animosities of their souls silenced at 
length, and their hands no longer clenched in deadly enmity 
against each other; but that is the peace of death. If our 
peace be but the peace of the sensualist satisfying pleasure, 
if it be but the peace of mental torpor and inaction, the 
peace of apathy, or the peace of the soul dead in trespasses 
and sins, we may whisper- to ourselves, " Peace, peace," but 
there will be no peace; the^^e is not the peace of unity nor 
the peace of God, for the peace of God is the living peace of 
love. 

A coxsisTENT Christian may not have rapture; but he 
has that which is much better than rapture: calmness — 
God's serene and perpetual presence And after all, breth- 
ren, that is the best. One to whom much is forgiven has 
much joy. He must have it, if it were only to support him 
through those fearful trials which are to come — those haunt- 
ing reminiscences of a polluted heart — those frailties — those 
inconsistencies to which the habits of past indulgence have 
made him liable. A terrible struggle is in store for him 
yet. Grudge him not one hour of unclouded exultation. 
But religion's best gift — rest, serenity ; the quiet daily love 
of one who lives perpetually with his Father's family; un- 
interrupted usefulness; — that belongs to him who has lived 
steadily, and walked with duty, neither grieving nor insult- 
ing the Holy Ghost of God. 

Let us understand what is meant by this rest: let us 
look to those symbols about us in the world of nature by 
which it is suggested. It is not the lake locked in ice that 
suggests repose, but the river moving on calmly and rapidly 
in silent majesty and strength. It is not the cattle lying in 



PEACE. 149 

the sun, but the eagle cleaving the air with fixed pinions, 
that gives you the idea of repose combined with strength 
and motion. In creation, the rest of God is exhibited as a 
sense of power which nothing wearies. When chaos burst 
into harmony, so to speak, God had rest. 

There are two deep principles in nature in apparent 
contradiction — one, the aspiration after perfection ; the 
other, the longing after repose. In the harmony of these 
lies the rest of the soul of man. There have been times 
when. we have experienced this. Then the winds have been 
hushed, and the throb and the tumult of the passions have 
been blotted out of our bosoms. That was a moment when 
we were in harmony with all around, reconciled to our- 
selves and to our God; when we sympathized with all that 
was pure, all that was beautiful, all that was lovely. 

This was not stagnation, it was fullness of life — life in 
its most expanded form, such as nature witnessed in her 
first hour. This is life in that form of benevolence which 
expands into the mind of Christ. And w^hen this is work- 
ing in the soul it is marvelous how it distills into a man's 
words and countenance. 

Far deeper lodged in the human breast than the desire 
of honor or riches is seated the desire for rest: there are, 
doubtless, eager earnest spirits, who may scorn pleasure, 
but, nevertheless, they long for rest. 

To him who takes Christ's .yoke, not in a spirit of selfish 
ease and acquiescence in evil, but in strife and stern battle 
with it, the rest of Christ streams in upon his soul. 

Yet, thank God! there is rest — many an interval of 
saddest, sweetest rest — even here, when it seems as if even- 
ing breezes from that other land, laden with fragrance, 
played upon the cheeks and lulled the heart. There are 
times, even on the stormy sea, when a gentle whisper 
breathes softly as of heaven, and sends into the soul a 
dream of ecstasy which can never again wholly die, even 
amidst the jar and whirl of waking life. How such whis- 
pers make the blood stop, and the very flesh creep with a 
sense of mysterious communion! How singularly such 



150 . Robertson's living thoughts. 

moments are the epochs of life — the few points that stand 
out prominently in the recollection after the flood of years 
has buried all the rest, as all the low shore disappears, 
leaving only a few rock-points visible at high tide! 

PENITENCE. 

By repentance is meant, in Scripture, change of- life, 
alteration of habits, renewal of heart. This is the aim and 
meaning of all sorrow. The consequences of sin are meant 
to wean from sin. The penalty annexed to it is in the first 
instance corrective, not penal. Fire burns the child, to 
teach it one of the truths of this universe — the property of 
fire to burn. The first time it cuts its hand with a sharp 
knife it has gained a lesson which it never will forget. 
Now, in the case of pain this experience is seldom, if ever, 
in vain. There is little chance of a child forgetting that 
fire will burn, and that sharp steel will cut; but the moral 
lessons contained in the penalties annexed to wrong-doing 
are just as truly intended, though they are by no means so 
unerring in enforcing their application. The fever in the 
veins and the headache which succeed intoxication, are 
meant to warn against excess. On the first occasion they 
are simply corrective; in every succeeding one they assume 
more and more a penal character in proportion as the con- 
science carries with them the sense of ill desert. 

This is the great, peculiar feature of this sorrow: God is 
there, accordingly self is less prominent. It is not a micro- 
scopic self-examination, nor a mourning in which self is 
ever uppermost: mij character gone; the greatness of mij 
sin; the forfeiture of my salvation. The thought of God 
absorbs all that. I believe the feeling of true penitence 
would express itself in such words as these: There is a 
righteousness, though I have not attained it. There is a 
purity, and a love, and a beauty, though my life exhibits 
little of them. In that I can rejoice. Of that I can feel the 
surpassing loveliness. My doings? They are worthless, I 
cannot endure to think of them. I am not thinking of 
them. I have something else to think of. There, there; in 
that life I see it. And so the Christian, gazing not on 



PENITENCE. 151 

what he is, but on what he desires to be, dares in peni- 
tence to say, That righteousness is mine ; dares, even when the 
recollection of his sin is most vivid and most poignant, to 
say with Peter, thinking less of himself than of God, and 
sorrowing, as it were, with God: "Lord, Thou knowest all 
things, Thou knowest that I love Thee." 

The only religion possible to man is the religion of 
penitence. The righteousness of man cannot be the in- 
tegrity of the virgin citadel which has never admitted the 
enemy; it can never be more than the integrity of the city 
which has been surprised and roused, and which, having 
expelled the invader with blcK)d in the streets, has suffered 
great inward loss. 

Appointed to these two kinds of righteousness there are 
two kinds of happiness. To the first is attached the bless- 
ing of entire ignorance of the stain, pollution and misery 
of guilt, — a blessed happiness ; but it may be that it is not 
the greatest. To the happiness resulting from the other is 
added a greater strength of emotion; it may not have the 
calmness and peace of the first, but, perhaps, in point of 
intensity and fullness it is superior. It may be that the 
highest happiness can only be purchased through suffering: 
and the language of the Bible seems almost to authorize us 
to say that the happiness of penitence is deeper and more 
blessed than the happiness of the righteousness that has 
never fallen could be. 

There are two kinds of friendship — that which has 
never had a shocks and that which, after having been 
doubted, is at last made sure. The happiness of this last is 
perhaps the greater. Such seems to be the truth implied 
in the parable of the Prodigal Son: in the robe, and the 
ring, and the fatted calf, and the music and dancing, and 
the rapture of a father's embrace; and once more, in those 
words of our Redeemer, " There is more joy among the 
angels of heaven over one sinner that repenteth than over 
ninety and nine just persons that need no repentance." All 
these seem to tell of the immeasurable blessedness of peni- 
tence. 

If we have lost God's bright and happy presence by our 
willfulness, what then? Unrelieved sadness? Nay, brethren: 



152 Robertson's living thoughts. 

calmness, purity, may have gone from our heart, but all 
is not gone yet. Just as sweetness comes from the bark 
of the cinnamon when it is bruised, so can the spirit of the 
cross of Christ bring beauty and holiness and peace out of 
the bruised and broken heart. God dwells with the con- 
trite as much as with the humble. 

It is the glory of our Master's Gospel that it is the refuge 
of the broken-hearted. It is the strange mercy of our God 
that He does not reject the writhings of a jaded heart. Let 
the world curl its lip if it will, when it sees through the 
causes of the prodigal's return. And if the sinner does not 
come to God taught by this disappointment, what then? 
If affections crushed in early life have driven one man to 
God ; if wrecked and ruined hopes have made another man 
religious; if want of success in a profession has broken the 
spirit; if the human life lived out too passionately has left 
a surfeit and a craving behind which end in seriousness; if 
one is brought by the sadness of widowed life, and another 
by the forced desolation of involuntary single life; if when 
the mighty famine comes into the heart and not a husk is 
left, not a pleasure untried, and then, and not till then, the 
remorseful resolve is made, " I will arise and go to my 
Father"; — what then? Why, this, that the history of 
penitence * * * sheds only a brighter luster round the love 
of Christ, who rejoices to receive such wanderers, worthless 
as they are, back into His bosom. 

PERFECTION. 

Perfection is being, not doing; it is not to effect an act, 
but to achieve a character. If the aim of life were to do 
something, then, as in an earthly business, except in doing 
this one thing the business would be at a standstill. The 
student is not doing the one thing of student life when he 
has ceased to think or read. The laborer leaves his work 
undone when the spade is not in his hand, and he sits be- 
neath the hedge to rest. But in Christian life every mo- 
ment and every act is an opportunity for doing the one thing 
of becoming Christlike. Every day is full of a most impress- 
ive experience. Every temptation to evil temper which can 



PERFECTION. 153 

assail us to-day will be an opportunity to decide the ques- 
tion whether we shall gain the calmness and the rest of 
Christ, or whether we shall be tossed by the restlessness and 
agitation of the world. Nay, the very vicissitudes of the 
seasons, day and night, heat and cold, affecting us variably, 
and producing exhilaration or depression, are so contrived 
as to conduce toward the being which we become, and de- 
cide whether we shall be masters of ourselves or whether 
we shall be swept at the mercy of accident and circum- 
stance, miserably susceptible of merely outward influences. 
Infinite as are the varieties of life, so manifold are the 
paths to saintly character; and he who has not found out 
how directly or indirectly to make everything converge to- 
ward his soul's santification has as yet missed the meaning 
of this life. 

There are two, only two, perfect humanities. One has 
existed already in the person of our Lord Jesus Christ, the 
other is to be found only in the collective Church. Once, 
only once, has God given a perfect representation of Him- 
self, " the brightness of the Father's glory, and the express 
image of His person." And if we ask again for a perfect 
humanity, the answer is, it is not in this Church or in that 
Church, or in this man or in that man, or in this age or in 
that age, but in the collective blended graces and beauties 
and humanities which are found in every age, in all 
churches, but not in every separate man. So, at least, Paul 
has taught us, "Till we all come" — collectively, not sepa- 
rately — " in the unity of the faith, and of the knowledge of 
the Son of God, unto a perfect man," — in other words, to a 
perfect humanity, — " unto the measure of the stature of the 
fullness of Christ." 

It has been said, and has since been repeated as fre- 
quently as if it were an indisputable axiom, that " happi- 
ness is our being's end and aim." Brethren, happiness is 
not our being's end and aim. The Christian's aim is per- 
fection, not happiness; and every one of the sons of God 
must have something of that spirit which marked their 
Master; that holy sadness, that peculiar unrest, that high 



154 robertsok's living thoughts. 

and lofty melancholy whicli belongs to a spirit which strives 
after heights to which it can never attain. 

If yon search down into the constitution of yonr being 
till you come to the lowest deep of all, underlying all other 
wants you will find a craving for what is infinite, — a some- 
thing that desires perfection, — a wish that nothing but the 
thought of that which is eternal can satisfy. 

Whoever is satisfied with what he does has reached his 
culminating point; he will progress no more. Man's des- 
tiny is to be not dissatisfied, but forever unsatisfied. 

Spotlessness may do for angels; repentance unto life is 
the highest that belongs to man. 

The hardest, the severest, the last lesson which man has 
to learn upon this earth, is submission to the will of God. 
It is the hardest lesson, because to our blinded eyesight it 
often seems a cruel will. It is a severe lesson, because it 
can be only taught by the blighting of much that has been 
most dear. It is the last lesson, because when a man has 
learned that, he is fit to be transplanted from a world of 
willfulness to a world in which one Will alone is loved, and 
only one is done. All that saintly experience ever had to 
teach resolves itself into this, the lesson how to say affec- 
tionately, " Not as I will, but as Thou wilt." Slowly and 
stubbornly our hearts acquiesce in that. 

There are given to us ^' exceeding great and precious 
promises," that by means of these we might be partakers of 
the Divine nature. Not to be equal to the standard of our 
day, nor even to surpass it; not to be superior to the 
men among whom we live; not to forgive those who have 
little to be forgiven; not to love our friends: but to be 
the children of our Father; to be pure even as Christ is 
pure; to be "perfect even as our Father which is in heaven 
is perfect." 

It is easily perceivable why this perfection is unattain- 
able in this life. Faultlessness is conceivable, being merely 



POPULAKITY. 155 

the negation of evil. But perfection is positive, the attain- 
ment of all conceivable excellence. It is long as eternity — 
expansive as God. Perfection is our mark; yet never will 
the aim be so true and steady as to strike the golden center. 
Perfection of character; yet even to the dying hour it will 
be but this: *' I count not myself to have apprehended." 
Christian life is like those questions in mathematics which 
never can be exactly answered. All you can attain is an 
approximation to the truth. You may labor on for years 
and never reach it; yet your labor is not in vain. Every 
fissure vou add makes the fraction nearer than the lasf to 
the million millionth ; and so it is with holiness. Christ is 
our mark — the perfect standard of God in Christ. 

God is love, and to love men till private attachments 
have expanded into a philanthropy which embraces all, at 
last even the evil and enemies, with compassion, — that is to 
love God. God is truth. To be true, to hate every form of 
falsehood, to live a brave, true, real life, — that is to love 
God. God is inJSnite, and to love the boundless, reaching 
on from grace to grace, adding charity to faith, and rising 
upward ever to see the ideal still above us, and to die with 
it unattained, aiming insatiably to be perfect even as the 
Father is perfect, — that is to love God. 

POPULARITY. 

Popularity is one of the things of an earthly harvest 
for which quite earthly qualifications are required. I say 
not always dishonorable qualifications, but a certain flexi- 
bilit}^ of disposition; a certain courtly willingness to sink 
obnoxious truths, and adapt ourselves to the prejudices of 
the minds of others; a certain adroitness at catching the 
tone of those with whom we are. Without some of these 
things no man can be popular in any profession. 

But you have resolved to be a liver, a doer, a cham- 
pion of the truth. Your ambition is to be pure in the last 
recesses of the mind. You have your reward: a soul up- 
right and manly; a fearless bearing, that dreads to look 
no man in the face; a willingness to let men search 3'ou 
through and through, and defy them to see any difference 



156 robertsok's livikg thoughts. 

between what you seem and what you are. Now, your 
price: your price is dislike. The price of being true is the 
Cross. The warrior of the truth must not expect success. 
What have you to do with popularity? Sow for it, and you 
will have it. But if you wish for it, or wish for peace, you 
have mistaken your calling; you must not be a teacher of 
the truth; you must not cut prejudice against the grain: 
you must leave medical, legal, theological truth to harder 
and nobler men, who are willing to take the martyr's cross, 
and win the martyr's crown. 

If you knew how sick at heart T am with the whole 
work of parlement, talkee, palaver, or whatever else it is 
called; how lightly I hold the "gift of the gab"; how grand 
and divine the realm of silence appears to me in compari- 
son; how humiliated and degraded to the dust I have felt, 
in perceiving myself quietly taken by gods and men for the 
popular preacher of a fashionable watering-place; how slight 
the power seems to me to be given by it of winning souls; 
and how sternly I have kept my tongae from saying a sylla- 
ble or a sentence, in pulpit or on platform, because it woul(J 
be popular! 

Unpopularity or popularity is utterly worthless as a 
test of manhood's worth. 

PRAYER. 

Prayer is a necessity of our humanity rather than a 
duty. To force it as a duty is dangerous. Christ did not; 
never commanded it, never taught it till asked. This 
necessity is twofold. First, the necessity of sympathy. 
We touch other human spirits only at a point or two. In 
the deepest departments of thought and feeling we are 
alone, and the desire to escape that loneliness finds for 
itself a voice in prayer. 

Next, the necessity of escaping the sense of a crushing 
fate. The feeling that all things are fixed and unalterable, 
that we are surrounded by necessities which we cannot 
break through, is intolerable whenever it is realized. Our 
egotism cries against it; our innocent egotism, and the 



PEAYER. 157 

practical reconciliation between our innocent egotism and 
hideous fatalism, is prayer, which realizes a living Person 
ruling all things with a will. 

And now one word about prayer. It is a preparation 
for danger, it is the armor for battle. Go not, my Christian 
brother, into the danc^erous world without it. You kneel 
down at night to pray, and drowsiness weighs down your 
eyelids. A hard day's work is a kind of excuse, and you 
shorten your prayer and resign yourself softly to repose. 
The morning breaks, and it may be you rise late, and so 
your early devotions are not done, or done with irregular 
haste. No watching unto prayer — wakefulness once more 
omitted. And now we ask, is that reparable? Brethren, 
we solemnly believe not. There has been that done which 
cannot be undone. You have given up your prayer, and 
you will suffer for it. Temptation is before you, and you 
are not fit to meet it. There is a guilty feeling on the soul, 
and you linger at a distance from Christ. It is no marvel 
if that day, in which you suffer drowsiness to interfere 
with prayer, be a day on which you betray Him by coward- 
ice and soft shrinking from duty. Let it be a principle 
through life, moments of prayer intruded upon by sloth 
cannot be made up. We may get experience, but we can- 
not get back the rich freshness and the strength which 
were wrapped up in these moments. 

No man is in the habit of praying to God in Christ, and 
then doubts whether Christ is He " that should come." It 
is in the power of prayer to realize Christ, to bring Him 
near, to make you feel His life stirring like a pulse within 
you. Jacob could not doubt whether he had been with God 
when his sinew shrunk. John could not doubt whether 
Jesus was the Christ when the things He had done were 
pictured out so vividly in answer to his prayer. Let but a 
man live with Christ, anxious to have his own life destroyed 
and Christ's life established in its place, losing himself in 
Christ, that man will have all his misgivings silenced. These 
are the two remedies for doubt — activity and prayer. He 
who works, and feels he works, — he who prays, and knotvs 



158 ROBERTSOi^'S LIYIIS'G THOUGHTS. 

he prays, — has got the secret of transforming life-failure 
into life- victory. 

Here is a grand paradox, which is the paradox of all 
prayer. The heart hopes that which to reasoning seems 
impossible. And I believe we never pray aright except 
when we pray in that feminine, childlike spirit which no 
logic can defend, feeling as if we modified the will of God, 
though that will is fixed. It is the glory of the spirit that 
is affectionate and submissive that it, ay and it alone, can 
pray, because it alone can believe that its prayer will be 
granted; and it is the glory of that spirit, too, that its 
prayer will be granted. 

It is a precious lesson of the cross that apparent failure 
is eternal victory. It is a precious lesson of this prayer 
that the object of prayer is not the success of its petition; 
nor is its rejection a proof of failure. Christ's petition 
was not gratified, yet He was the One well-beloved of His 
Father. 

Practically then, I sa}^ pray as He did, till prayer 
makes you cease to pray. Pray till prayer makes you forget 
your own wish, and leave it or merge it in God's will. The 
Divine wisdom has given us prayer, not as a means whereby 
to obtain the good things of earth, but as a means whereby 
we learn to do without them; not as a means whereby we 
escape evil, but as a means whereby we become strong to 
meet it. " There appeared an angel unto Him from heaven 
strengthening Him." That was the true reply to His prayer. 

REGENERATION. 
Restoration is the essential work of Christianity. 

To be a son of God is one thing ; to know that you are, 
and call Him Father, is another, and that is regeneration. 

The cross of Christ, the spirit of that sacrifice, can alone 
be the regeneration of the world. 



REGE^ERATIO]Sr. 159 

Proof of adoption is a changed heart (2 Cor. v, 17). If 
a man see this change in himself, it is a proof to him that he 

has believed, because the work of regeneration is begun 

the work which God performs in the heart of all whom He 
has chosen, conforming them to the image of his Son (Rom. 
viii, 29). If he does not see this change, it is evidently be- 
cause of the predominance of sin; and therefore the want 
of assurance springs from sin. 

Moralists have taught us what sin is; they have ex- 
plained how it twines itself into habit; they have shown us 
its ineffaceable character. It was reserved for Christianity 
to speak of restoration. Christ, and Christ only, has re- 
vealed that he who has erred may be restored, and made 
pure and clean and whole again. 

None can anticipate such a heaven as God has revealed, 
except they that are born of the Spirit; therefore to believe 
that Jesus is the Christ, a man must be born of God. You 
will observe that no other victory overcomes the world; for 
this is what St. John means by saying " Who is he 'that 
overcometh the world, but he that believeth that Jesus is 
the Christ?" For then it comes to pass that a man begins 
to feel that to do wrong is hell, and that to love God, to be 
like God, to have the mind of Christ, is the only heaven. 
Until this victory is gained the world retains its stronghold 
in the heart. ° 

Do you think that the temperate man has overcome the 
world, who, instead of the short-lived rapture of intoxica- 
tion, chooses regular employment, health and prosperity? 
Is it not the world in another form which has his homage? 
Or do you suppose that the so-called religious man is really 
the world's conqueror by being content to give up seventy 
years of enjoyment in order to win innumerable ages of the 
very same species of enjoyment? Has he not only made 
earth a hell, in order that earthly things may be his heaven 
forever? 

Thus the victory of faith proceeds from stage to stage: 
the first victory is when the present is conquered by the 
future; the last, when the visible and sensual is despised in 
comparison of the invisible and eternal. Then earth has 



160 ROBERTSON'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

lost its power forever; for if all that it has to give be lost 
eternally, the gain of faith is still infinite. 

RELIGION. 

It is in vain that we ransack the world for probable evi- 
dences of God and hypotheses of His existence. It is idle to 
look into the materialism of man for the revelation of his 
immortality, or to examine the morbid anatomy of the body 
to find the rule of right. If a man go to the eternal world 
with convictions of eternity, the resurrection, God, already 
in his spirit, he will find abundant corroborations of that 
which he already believes. But if God's existence be not 
thrillingr everv fibre of his heart, if the immortal be not 
already in him as the proof of the resurrection, if the law 
of duty be not stamped upon his soul as an eternal truth, 
unquestionable, a thing that must be obeyed, quite sepa- 
rately from all considerations of punishment or impunity, 
science will never reveal these; observation pries in vain; 
the physician comes away from the laboratory an infidel. 

AxD if obedience were entire and love were perfect, then 
would the revelation of the Spirit to the soul of man be 
perfect too. There would be trust expelling care, and 
enabling a man to repose: there would be a love which 
would cast out fear; there would be a sympathy with the 
mighty All of God. Selfishness would pass, isolation would 
be felt no lonorer : the tide of the universal and eternal Life 
would come with mighty pulsations throbbing through the 
soul. To such a man it would not matter where he was, 
nor what: to live or die would be alike. If he lived, he 
would live unto the Lord; if he died, he would die to the 
Lord. The bed of down surrounded by friends, or the 
martyr's stake girt round with curses — what matter 
which? Stephen, dragged, hurried, driven to death, felt the 
glory of God streaming on his face: when the shades of 
faintness were gathering round his eyes, and the world was 
fading away into indistinctness, " the things prepared " 
were given him. His spirit saw what " eye had never 
seen." The later martyr bathes his fingers in the fiames, 
and while the flesh shrivels and the bones are cindered, 



RELIGIOK. 161 

says, in unfeigned sincerity, that he is lying on a bed of 
roses. It would matter little what he was — the ruler of a 
kinc^dom, or a tailor ojrimed with the smoke and dust of a 
workshop. To a soul filled with God, the difference between 
these two is inappreciable — as if, from a distant star, you 
were to look down upon a palace and a hovel, both dwindled 
into distance. 

We move through a world of mystery; and the deepest 
question is, What is the Being that is ever near, sometimes 
felt, never seen; That which has haunted us from child- 
hood with a dream of something surpassingly fair, which 
has never yet been realized ; That which sweeps through 
the soul at times as a desolation, like the blast from the 
wings of the Angel of Death, leaving us stricken and silent 
in our loneliness; That which has touched us in our 
tenderest point, and the flesh has quivered with agony, and 
our mortal affections have shriveled up with pain; That 
which comes to us in aspirations of nobleness, and concep- 
tions of superhuman excellence? Shall we say It or He? 
What is it? Who is He? Those anticipations of Immortality 
and God — what are they? Are they the mere throbbings of 
my own heart, heard and mistaken for a living something 
beside me? Are they the sound of my own wishes, echoing 
through the vast void of Nothingness? or shall I call them 
God, Father, Spirit, Love? A living Being within me or 
outside me? Tell me Thy Name, thou awful mystery of 
Loveliness! This is the struggle of all earnest life. 

What makes a man turn to God in the first instance? 
Unquestionably, the Spirit that is seeking him; but which 
is also seeking us, which requires a reciprocal effort on our 
part. I firmly believe that the Universal Spirit, "not far 
from any one of us," is seeking all; and in the union-point, 
where the will of the Finite is chancred bv and voluntarily 
adopts as its own, the will of the Infinite, lies the answer to 
the deep question you have put, " What makes a man turn 
to God in the first instance?" I despair of ever giving, or 
ever seeing given, a clearer reply than this, which leaves 
the matter still unfathomable; for plainly there is some- 
thing in it deeper than the farthest-reaching minds have 
7* 



162 ROBERTSOIS^'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

yet penetrated. Once it was a question of torture to me, 
interfering with energy, and paralyzing me with the feeling 
of being a mere machine, acting under the delusion of 
spontaneousness. Now I am pretty well satisfied with the 
practical solution of the question, except in moments when 
thought works darkly, apart from action — God's own ap- 
pointed eye-salve for the blinding disease of speculative 
tendencies. My reply (for myself sufficient) is this: Rea- 
soning tells me I am a leaf, blown about by the breath of 
the spirit- wind as it listeth. I review the reasoning step 
by step, find no flaw in it. Nothing but a horrible predes- 
tination environs me. Every act of my past and future 
life, external and internal, was necessitated. The conclu- 
sion is irrefutable. I act upon this. Immediately I find 
that, practicall}^, I have got wrong. I cannot act upon the 
idea of being fated, reft of will, without injuring my whole 
being. My affections are paralyzed, my actions disordered. 
I find, therefore, that the view which is theoretically truth, 
translated into conduct, becomes pratically a lie. Now, on 
the other hand, conscience tells me I am free. I am to seek 
God. I am not to lie passive, waiting for the moving of 
the waters, but to obey a voice within me which I recognize 
as Divine, and which says, "Arise, take up thy bed and 
walk." My intellect stands in contradiction to my con- 
science; but conscience is given me to act by. In matters 
of duty, therefore, I am bound to obey my conscience rather 
than my intellect. I believe the voice which says, " You 
can seek God and find Him,'' rather than the one which 
says, "Poor victim of fantasy, you cannot stir; you can 
only wait! " There is the best concise reply I can give you 
to your question. 

Religiox deals with men, not cases; with human hearts, 
not casuistry. 

Christianity determines general principles, out of which, 
no doubt, the best government would surely spring: but 
what the best orovernment is it does not determine — whether 
monarchy or a republic, an aristocracy or a democracy. 

It lays down a great social law: "Masters, give unto 
your servants that which is just and equal." But it is not 
its part to declare how much is just and equal. It has no 



RELIGION". 163 

fixed scale of wages according to which masters must give. 
That it leaves to each master and each age of society. 

It binds up men in a holy brotherhood. But what are 
the best institutions and surest means for arriving at this 
brotherhood it has not said. In particular, it has not pro- 
nounced whether competition or cooperation will secure it. 

Conceptions of religious life, which are only conceptions 
outward, having no lodgment in the heart, disappear. 
Fowls of the air came and devoured the seed. Have you 
ever seen grain scattered on the road? The sparrow from 
the housetop and the chickens from the barn rush in, and 
within a minute after it has been scattered not the shadow 
of a grain is left. This is the picture, not of thought 
crushed by degrees, but of thought dissipated, and no 
man can tell when or how it went. Swiftly do these 
winged thoughts come, when we pray, or read, or listen; in 
our inattentive, sauntering, wayside hours: and before we 
can be upon our guard, the very trace of holier purposes has 
disappeared. In our purest moods, when we kneel to pray, 
or gather round the altar, down into the very Holy of 
Holies, sweep these foul birds of the air, villain fancies, 
demon thoughts. The germ of life, the small seed of im- 
pression, is gone. 

The world says, Resent an injury; Christ says, Forgive 
your enemies. If, therefore, we preach forgiveness, are we 
not thereby preaching Christ, even though no distinct 
mention may be made of his Divinity or of the doctrine of 
the Atonement? The world says. Indulge your inclina- 
tions: Christ says, Be pure in the last recesses of your 
mind. He, then, who lives a pure life is teaching Christ, 
even though he may not on every occasion name Him. In 
the Sermon on the Mount there is contained no reference to 
any one special doctrine of Christianity, as we should call it; 
nor in the Epistle of St. James is there found one word re- 
specting the doctrine of the Atonement; but if we take this 
sermon or this epistle, and simply work out the truths 
therein contained — tell us, are we not thereby preaching 
Christ? To preach goodness, mercy, truth, not for the 



164 robertsok's living thoughts. 

bribe of heaven or from the fear of hell, but in the name 
of God the Father, is to preach Christ. 

It was necessary that one should come who should be 
true, the truest of all that are woman-born, whose life 
was truth, who from everlasting had been the Truth. It 
was necessary that He should come to preach the gospel 
to the poor, to dare to say to the people some truths which 
the philosophers dared not say, and other truths of which 
no philosopher had dreamed. The penalty of that true life 
was the sacrifice which is the world's atonement. Men saw 
the mortal die. But others saw the immortal rise to take 
his place at the right hand of power ; and the spirit which 
has been streaming out ever since from that life and death 
is the world's present light, and shall be its everlasting life. 

We live surrounded by Christian institutions, breathe 
an atmosphere saturated by Christianity. It is exceedingly 
difficult even to imagine another state of things. In the 
enjoyment of domestic purity, it is difficult to conceive the 
debasing effects of polygamy; in the midst of political 
liberty, to conceive of the blighting power of slavery; in 
scientific progress, to imagine mental stagnation; in re- 
ligious liberty and free goodness, to fancy the reign of 
superstition. 

Yet to realize the blessings of health we must sit by the 
sick-bed; to feel what light is we must descend into the 
mine, and see the emaciated forms which dwindle away in 
darkness; to know what the blessing of sunshine is, go 
down into the valleys where stunted vegetation and dim 
vapors tell of a scene on which the sun scarcely shines two 
hours in the day; and to know what we have from Chiis- 
tianity, it is well to cast the eyes sometimes over the dark- 
ness from which the advent of Christ redeemed us. 

I KNOW that there are men who once wandered in dark- 
ness and doubt, and could find no light, who have now found 
an anchor and a rock and a resting-place. I know that 
there are men who were feeling bitterly and angrily what 
seemed to them the unfair differences of society, who now 
regard them in a gentle, more humble and more tender 



RELIGIOK. 165 

spirit. I know that there are rich who have been led to 
feel more generously toward the poor. I know that there 
are poor who have been taught to feel more truly and more 
fairly toward the rich. I believe — for on such a point God 
only can knoiv — that there are men who have been induced 
to place before themselves a higher standard, and, perhaps, 
I may venture to add, have conformed their lives more truly 
to that standard. 

There comes to each man a crisis in his destiny, when 
evil influences have been removed, or some strong impres- 
sion made, — after an illness or an escape, or in some season 
of solitary thoughtfulness or disappointment. It were an 
awful thing to watch such a spirit, if we knew that he is 
on the trial now, by which his everlasting destiny is to be 
decided. It were more awful still to see a man who has 
passed the time of grace and reached the time of blindness, 
and to know that the light is quenched forever, — that he will 
go on as before, and live many years and play his part in 
life, but that the Spirit of God will come back to that soul 
no more forever. 

In the pursuit of wealth, knowledge, or reputation, cir- 
cumstances have power to mar the wisest schemes. The 
hoard of years may be lost in a single night. The wisdom 
hived up by a whole life may perish when some fever im- 
pairs memory. But in the kingdom of Christ, where inward 
character is the prize, no chance can rob earnestness of its 
exactly proportioned due of success. ''Whatsoever a man 
soweth, that shall he also reap." There is no blight, nor 
mildew, nor scorching sun, nor rain-deluge, which can turn 
that harvest into a failure. '* Lay not up for yourselves 
treasures on earth." * * * Sow for time, and lyrohahUj you 
will succeed in time. Sow the seeds of life — humbleness, 
pure-heartedness, love; and in the long eternity which lies 
before the soul every minutest grain will come up again with 
an increase of thirty, sixty or a hundred fold. 

What is religion but fuller life? To live in the Spirit, 
what is it but to have keener feelings and mightier pow- 
ers — to rise into a higher consciousness of life? What is 



166 ROBERTSOi^'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

religion's self but feeling? The highest form of religion is 
charity. Love is of God, and he that loveth is born of God, 
and knoweth God. This is an intense feeling, — too intense to 
be excited; profound in its calmness, yet it rises at times in 
its higher flights into that ecstatic life which glances in a 
moment intuitively through ages. These are the pentecostal 
hours of our existence, when the Spirit comes as a mighty 
rushing wind, in cloven tongues of fire, filling the soul with 
God. 

So far as a man feels that eternity is long, time short, so 
far he is a child of light. So far as he believes the body 
nothing in comparison with the soul, the present in com- 
parison with the future; so far as he has felt the power of 
sin and the sanctifying power of the death of Christ, so far 
as he comprehends the character of God as exhibited in 
Jesus Christ, — he is a child of light. 

Eeligion differs from morality in the value which it 
places on the affections. Morality requires that an act be 
done on principle. Religion goes deeper, and inquires into 
the state of the heart. The church of Ephesus was unsus- 
pected in her orthodoxy, and unblemished in her zeal; but 
to the ear of him who saw the apocalyptic vision a voice 
spake: "I have somewhat against thee in that thou hast left 
thy first love." 

He alone believes truth who feels it; he alone has a 
religion whose soul knows by experience that to serve God 
and know Him is the richest treasure. And unless truth 
come to 3'OU, not in word onl}^ but in power besides, — 
authoritative because true, not true because authoritative, — 
there has been no real revelation made to you from God. 

These are "the things which God hath prepared for them 
that love Him." Compared with these, what are loveliness, 
the eloquent utterances of man, the conceptions of the heart 
of genius? What are they all to the serene stillness of a 
spirit lost in love; the full deep rapture of a soul into which 
the Spirit of God is pouring itself in a mighty tide of reve- 
lation? 



REMORSE. 167 

Every moment of delay adds bitterness to after strug- 
gles. The moment of a feeling of hired servitude must 
come. If a man will not obey God with a warm heart, he 
may hereafter have to do it with a cold one. To be holy is 
the work of a long life. 

I WILL tell you of a want I am beginning to experience 
very distinctly. I perceive more than ever the necessity of 
devotional reading: I mean the works of eminently holy 
persons, whose tone was not merely uprightness of character 
and high-mindedness, but communion — a strong sense of 
personal and ever-living communion — with God besides. 

There are two kinds of life, — one of the flesh, another of 
the spirit. Amidst the animal and selfish desires of our 
nature there is a voice which clearly speaks of duty, right, 
perfection. This is the spirit of Deity in man ; it is the life 
of God in the soul; this is the evidence of our Divine 
parentage. 

KEMORSE. 

Pernicious as have been the consequences of self-right- 
eousness, more destructive still have been the consequences 
of remorse. If self-righteousness "has slain its thousands, 
remorse has slain its tens of thousands; for, indisputably, 
self-righteousness secures a man from degradation. Have 
you never wondered at the sure walk of those persons 
who, to trust their own estimate of themselves, are al- 
ways right? They never sin; their children are better 
brought up than any other children; their conduct is 
irreproachable. Pride saves them from a fall. That ele- 
ment of self-respect, healthful always, is their safeguard. 
Yes, the Pharisee was right. He is not an extortioner, nor 
unjust, and he is regular in his. payments and his duties. 
That was self- righteousness: it kept him from saintliness, 
but it saved him from degradation, too. Remorse, on the 
contrary, crushes. If a man lose the world's respect, he 
can retreat back upon the consciousness of the God within; 
but if a man lose his own respect, he sinks down and down, 
and deeper yet, until he can get it back again by feeling 
that he is sublimely loved, and he dares at last to respect 



168 Robertson's living thoughts. 

that which God vouchsafes to care for. Eemorse is like the 
clog of an insoluble debt: the debtor is proverbially ex- 
travagant, — one more, and one more, expense. What can it 
matter when the great bankruptcy is near? And so, in the 
same way, one sin, and one more. Why not? Why should 
he pause when all is hopeless? What is one added to that 
which is already infinite? 

Hell is not merely a thing hereafter, hell is a thing 
here; hell is not a thing banished to the far distance, it is 
ubiquitous as conscience. Wherever there is a worm of 
undying remorse, the sense of having done wrong, and a 
feeling of degradation, there is hell begun. And now re- 
specting this: these words, " banishment from God," "aliena- 
tion," though merely popular phrases, are expressions of a 
deep truth. 

Past guilt lies behind us, and is well forgotten. There 
is a way in which even sin may be banished from the 
memory. If a man looks forward to the evil he is going 
to commit, and satisfies himself that it is inevitable, and 
so treats it lightly, he is acting as a fatalist. But if 
a man partially does this, looking backward feeling that 
sin when it is past has become part of the history of 
God's universe, and is not to be wept over forever, he only 
does that which the Giver of the Gospel permits him to do. 
Bad as the results have been in the world of making light 
of sin, those of brooding over it too much have been worse. 
Remorse has done more harm than even hardihood. It was 
remorse which fixed Judas in an unalterable destiny; it was 
remorse which filled the monasteries for ages with men and 
women whose lives became useless to their fellow-creatures; 
it is remorse which so remembers bygone faults as to para- 
lyze the energies for doing Christ's work ; for when you 
break a Christian's spirit, it is all over with progress. Oh, 
we want everything that is hopeful and encouraging for our 
work, for God knows it is not an easy one. And there- 
fore it is that the Gospel comes to the guiltiest of us all at 
the very outset with the inspiring news of pardon. 



REST. 169 



RESPONSIBILITY. 

There is a tendency in the masses always to think, not 
what is true, but what is respectable, correct, orthodox. 
Is that authorized? we ask. It comes partly from coward- 
ice, partly from indolence; from habit, from imitation, 
from the uncertainty and darkness of all moral truths, and 
the dread of timid minds to plunge into the investigation of 
them. Now, truth known and believed respe_cting God and 
man frees from this, by warning of individual responsi- 
bility. But responsibility is personal; it cannot be dele- 
gated to another, and thrown oft' upon a church. Before 
God, face to face, each soul must stand to give account. 

The aim was to make all men free. He saw around 
Him servitude in every form, — man in slavery to man, and 
race to race; His own countrymen in bondage to the 
Romans, — slaves both of Jewish and Roman masters, fright- 
fully oppressed; men trembling before priestcraft; and 
those who were politically and ecclesiastically free in 
worse bondage still, — the rich and rulers slaves to their 
own passions. 

Conscious of His inward Deity and of His Father's in- 
tentions. He, without hurry, without the excitement which 
would mark the mere earthly liberator, calmly said, " Ye 
shall be free." 

REST. 

That which is rest to one man is not rest to another. 
To require the illiterate man to read his Bible for some 
hours would impose a toil upon him, though it might be a 
relaxation to you. To the laboring man a larger propor- 
tion of the day must be given to the recreation of his phys- 
ical nature than is necessary for the man of leisure, to whom 
the spiritual observance of the day is easy, and seems all. 
Let us learn large, charitable considerateness. 

It is the deepest want in the soul of man. If you take 

off covering after covering of the nature which wraps him 

round, till you come to the central heart of hearts, deep 

lodged there you find the requirement of repose. All men 

8 



170 Robertson's livin^g thoughts. 

do not hanker after pleasure, — all men do not crave intel- 
lectual food. But all men long for rest; the most restless 
that ever pursued a turbulent career on earth did by that 
career only testify to the need of the soul within. They 
craved for something which was not given; there was a 
thirst w^hich was not slaked. That very restlessness be- 
tokened that — restless because not at rest. It is this need 
which sometimes makes the quiet of the grave an object of 
such deep desire: "There the wicked cease from troubling, 
and there the weary are at rest." It is this which creates 
the chief desirableness of heaven: "There remaineth a rest 
for the people of God." And it is this w^iich, consciously 
or unconsciously, is the real wish that lies at the bottom of 
all others. Oh, for tranquillity of heart — heaven's pro- 
found silence in the soul, — "a meek and quiet spirit, which 
in the sight of God is of great price!" 

The eventide, in which instinctively Jacob went into the 
fields to meditate, — when the work of the day is done, when 
the mind has ceased its tension, when the passions are lulled 
to rest in spite of themselves by the spell of the quiet, star- 
lit sky, — it is then, amidst the silence of the lull of all the 
lower parts of our nature, that the soul comes forth to do 
its work. Then the peculiar, strange work of the soul 
which the intellect cannot do, meditation, begins. Awe, 
and worship, and w^onder, are in full exercise; and Love 
begins then in its purest form of mystic adoration and per- 
vasive and undefined tenderness — separate from all that is 
coarse and earthly, — swelling as if it would embrace the 
All in its desire to bless, and lose itself in the sea of the 
love of God. This is the Rest of the soul, the exercise and 
play of all the nobler powers. 

RESURRECTION. 

Resurrection is not one of those questions on which you 
can afford to wait, — it is the question of life and death. 
There are times when it does not weigh heavily. When we 
have some keen pursuit before us, when we are young 
enough to be satisfied to enjoy ourselves, the problem does 
not press itself. We are too laden with the pressure of the 



RESURRECTION. 171 

present to care to ask what is coming. But at last a time 
comes when we feel it will be all over soon, — that much of 
our time is gone, and the rest swiftl}^ g^ijig- ^^^ ^^^ ^ rmni 
be as frivolous as he will at heart, it is a question too solemn 
to be put aside, whether he is going down into extinction 
and the blank of everlasting silence or not; whether in 
those far ages, when the very oak which is to form his coffin 
shall have become fibres of black mould, and the churchyard 
in which he is to lie slmll have become perhaps unconse- 
crated ground, and the spades of a generation yet unborn 
shall have exposed his bones, those bones will be the last 
relic in the world to bear record that he once trod this green 
earth, and that life was once dear to him, Thomas, or James, 
or Paul; or whether that thrilling, loving, thinking some- 
thing, that he calls himself, has indeed within it an inde- 
structible existence which shall still be conscious when 
everything else shall have rushed into endless wreck. Oh, 
in the awful earnestness of a question such as that, a specu- 
lation and a peradventure will not do, we must have proof. 
The honest doubt of Thomas craves a sign as much as the 
cold doubt of the Sadducee. 

In this strange world of perpetual change we are met by 
many resemblances to a resurrection. Without much exag- 
geration we call them resurrections. There is the resurrec- 
tion of the moth from the grave of the chrysalis. For many 
ages the sculptured butterfly was the type and emblem of 
immortality. Because it passes into a state of torpor or 
deadness, and because from that it emerges by a kind of 
resurrection — the same, yet not the same — in all the ra- 
diance of a fresh and beautiful youth, never again to be 
supported by the coarse substance of earth, but destined 
henceforth to nourish its etherealized existence on the nec- 
tar of the flowers, the ancients saw in that transformation 
a something added to their hopes of immortality. It was 
their beautiful symbol of the soul's indestructibility. 

Let any one go into the fields at this spring season of 
the year; let him mark the busy preparations for life 
which are going on. Life is at work in every emerald bud, 
in the bursting bark of every polished bough, in the green- 



172 ROBERTSON'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

ing tints of every brown hillside. A month ago everything 
was as still and cold as the dead silence which chills the 
heart in the highest regions of the glacier solitudes. Life 
is coming back to a dead world. It is a resurrection, surely. 
The return of freshness to the frozen world is not less mar- 
velous than the return of sensibility to a heart which has 
ceased to beat. If one has taken place, the other is not im- 
possible. 

The Egyptian mode of sepulture was embalming, and 
the Hebrews, too, attached much importance to the body 
after death. Joseph commanded his countrymen to pre- 
serve his bones to take away with them. In this we detect 
that unmistakable human craving, not only for immortal- 
ity, but immortality associated with a form. No doubt the 
Egyptian feeling was carried out absurdly. They tried to 
redeem from the worm the very aspect that had been worn, 
the very features they had loved; and there was a kind of 
feeling that while that mummy lasted the man had not yet 
perished from earth. They expected that, in process of 
years, it would again be animated by its spirit. 

Now, Christianity does not disappoint, but rather meets, 
that feeling. It grants all that the materialist, and all that 
the spiritualist, have a right to ask. It grants to the ma- 
terialist, by the doctrine of the resurrection of the body, 
that future life shall be associated with a material form. 
Leaving untouched all the questions which may be raised 
about the identity of the atoms that have been buried, it sim- 
ply pronounces that the spirit shall have a body. It grants 
to the spiritualist all he ought to wish, that the spirit shall 
be free from evil. For it is a mistake of ultra -spiritualism 
to connect degradation with the thought of a risen body, or 
to suppose that a mind unbound by the limitations of space^ 
is a more spiritual idea of resurrection than the other. The 
opposite to spirituality is not materialism, but sin. The 
form of matter does not degrade. For what is this world 
itself but the form of Deity, whereby the manifoldness of 
His mind and Beauty manifests, and wherein it clothes 
jtself ? It is idle to say that spirit can exist apart from 
form. We do not know that it can. Perhaps even the 



RETRIBUTIOKo 173 

Eternal Himself is more closely bound to His works than 
our philosophical systems have conceived. Perhaps matter 
is only a mode of thought. At all events, all that we know 
or can know of mind exists in union with form. The resur- 
rection of the body is the Christian verity, which meets 
and satisfies those cravings of the ancient Egyptian mind 
that expressed themselves in the process of embalming, and 
the religious reverence felt for the very bones of the de- 
parted by the Hebrews. 

The caterpillar passes into the butterfly, the snow-drop 
dies to rise again, spring leaps to life from the arms of 
winter, and the world rejoices in its resurrection. God 
gives us all this merciful assistance to our faith. But it is 
not on these grounds that our belief rests. These are not 
our proofs, they are only corroborations and illustrations; 
for it does not^follow with certainty that the body of man 
shall be restored, because the chrysalis, an apparent corpse, 
still lives. No, we fetch our proofs from the Word of God 
and the nature of the human soul; and we fetch our proba- 
bilities and illustrations from the suggestive world of types 
which lie all around us. 

EETRIBUTION. 

By punishment is simply meant the penalty annexed to 
transgression of a law. Punishment is of two kinds, — the 
penalty which follows ignorant transgression, and the 
chastisement which ensues upon willful disobedience. The 
first of these is called imputed guilt, the second is actual 
guilt. By imputed guilt is meant, in theological language, 
that a person is treated as if he were guilty. If, for ex- 
ample, you approach too near the whirling wheel of steam 
machinery, the mutilation which follows is the punishment 
of temerity. If the traveler ignorantly lays his hard on 
the cockatrice's den, the throb of the envenomed fang is the 
punishment of his ignorance. He has broken a law of 
nature, and the guilt of the infraction is imputed to 
him, — there is penalty, but there is none of the chastise- 
ment which follows 'sin. His conscience is not made mis- 
erable, he only suffers. Further, according to the con- 



174 robertsok's living thoughts. 

stitution of this world, it is not only our own transgressions 
of ignorance, but besides the faults of others, which bring 
pain and sorrow on us. The man of irritable and miserably 
nervous temperament owes that often to a father's in- 
temperance. Many a man has to struggle all his life with 
the penury which he reaps as the harvest of a distant an- 
cestor's extravagance. In the strictest sense of the word 
these are punishments, the consequences annexed to trans- 
gression, and in the language of theology they are called 
imputed guilt; but there is an all-important distinction 
between them and the chastisements of personal iniquity. 
If a man suffer ill-health or poverty, as the results of his 
own misconduct, his conscience forces him to refer this to 
the wrath of God. He is reaping as he had sown, and the 
miseries of conscious fault are added to his penalty; but if 
such things come as the penalty of the wrong of others, 
then, though philosophically you may call them punish- 
ment, in the popular sense of the word they are no punish- 
ment at all, but rather corrective discipline, — nay, even 
richest blessings if they are received from a Fathei-^s hand, 
and transmuted by humbleness into the means of spiritual 
growth. 

Hell is the infinite terror of the soul, whatever that 
may be. To one man it is pain: rid him of that, he can 
bear all degradation. To another it is public shame: save 
him from that, and he will creep and crawl before you to 
submit to any reptile meanness. " Honor me now, I pray 
thee, before the people," till Samuel turns from the abject 
thing in scorn. To others, the infinite terror is that com- 
pared with which all these would be a bed of roses. It is 
the hell of having done wrong; the hell of having had a 
spirit from God, pure, with high aspirations, and to be con- 
scious of having dulled its delicacy and degraded its desires ; 
the hell of having quenched a light brighter than the 
sun's, — of having done to another an injury that through 
time and through eternity never can be undone; infinite, 
maddening remorse; the hell of knowing that every chance 
of excellence, and every opportunity of good, has been lost 
forever. This is the infinite terror: this is wrath to come. 



RETRIBUTION. 175 

This is the very basis of all natural religion — the idea 
of the connection between guilt and retribution. In some 
form or other it underlies all mythologies: the sleepless, 
never-dying avengers of wrong; the Nemesis who presides 
over retribution; the vengeance which suffereth not the 
murderer to live; the whips and scorpions of the Furies. 
It seems the first instinct of religion. 

There is such a thing as being salted with fire, a never 
annihilating but still consuming torture. You may escape 
the viper and the wreck; you may by prudence make this 
world painless, more or less; you cannot escape yourself. 
Go where you will, you carry with you a soul degraded, its 
power lost, its finer sensibilities destroyed. Worse than the 
viper's tooth is the punishment of no longer striving after 
goodness, or aspiring after the life of God. Just as the man 
cannot see through the glass on which he breathes, sin dark- 
ens the windows of the soul. You cannot look out even to 
know the glories of the fair world from which your soul 
excludes itself. There is no punishment equal to the pun- 
ishment of being base. To sink from sin to sin, from in- 
famy to infamy, — that is the fearful retribution which is 
executed in the spiritual world. You are safe, go where 
you will, from the viper, — as safe as if you were the holiest 
of God's children. The fang is in your soul. 

Every law has its own appropriate penalty; and the 
wonder of it is, that often the severest penalty seems set 
against the smallest transgression. We suffer more for our 
vices than our crimes; we pay dearer for our imprudences 
than even for our deliberate wickedness. 

There is no perhaps. These are things which will be 
hereafter. You cannot alter the eternal laws. You can- 
not put your hand in the flame and not be burnt. You can- 
not sin in the body and escape the sin; for it goes inward, 
becomes part of you, and is itself the penalty which cleaves 
forever and ever to your spirit. Sow in the flesh, and you 
will reap corruption. Yield to passion, and it becomes your 
tyrant and your torment. Be sensual, self-indulgent, in- 
dolent, worldly, hard, — oh ! they all have their corresponding 
penalties : " Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap." 



176 KOBERTSON^S LIVIKG THOUGHTS. 



REVELATION. 

Never yet hath the eye seen the Truths of God; but 
then never shall it see them. In heaven this shall be as 
true as now. Shape and color give them not. God will 
never be visible, nor will His blessedness. He has no 
form. The pure in heart will see Him, but never with the 
eye; only in the same way, but in a different degree, that 
they see Him now. In the anticipated Vision of the 
Eternal, what do you expect to see, — a shape? — hues? You 
will never behold God. Eye hath not seen, and never shall 
see, in finite form, the Infinite One, nor the Infinite of feel- 
ing or of truth. 

Science cannot give a revelation. Science proceeds upon 
observation. It submits everything to the experience of the 
senses. Its law, expounded by its great lawgiver, is, that 
if you would ascertain its truth you must see, feel, taste. 
Experiment is the -test of truth. Now, you cannot, by 
searching, find out the Almighty to perfection, nor a single 
one of the blessed truths He has to communicate. 

No, it is vain that we ransack the world for prooable 
evidences of God, and hypotheses of His existence. It is idle 
to look into the materialism of man for the revelation of 
his immortality; or to examine the morbid anatomy of the 
body to find the rule of right. If a man go to the eternal 
world with convictions of Eternity, the Resurrection, God, 
already in his spirit, he will find abundant corroborations of 
that which he already believes. But if God's existence be 
not thrilling every fibre of his heart, if the Immortal be not 
already in him as the proof of the Resurrection, if the law of 
duty be not stamped upon his soul as an Eternal Truth, un- 
questionable, — a thing that must be obeyed, quite separately 
from all considerations of punishment or impunity, — science 
will never reveal these: observation pries in vain; the phy- 
sician comes away from the laboratory an infidel. Eye 
hath not seen the truths which are clear enough to Love 
and to the Spirit. 



REWARD. 177 

God gave His revelation in parts, piecemeal, as you teach 
a child to spell a word, — letter by letter, syllable by syllable, 
adding all at last together. God had a Word to spell — 
His own name. By degrees He did it; at last it came en- 
tire: the Word was made flesh. 

REVERENCE. 

Reverence is deeply rooted in the heart of humanity: 
you cannot tear it out. Civilization, science, progress, 
only change its direction, they do not weaken its force. 
If it no longer bows before crucifixes and candles, priests 
and relics, it is not extinguished toward what is truly 
sacred and what is priestly in man. The fiercest revolt 
against false authority is only a step toward submission to 
rightful authority. Emancipation from false lords only sets 
the heart free to honor true ones. The free-born David 
will not do homage to Nabal. 

REWARD. 

I SAY this is a spurious goodness which is good for the 
sake of reward. The child that speaks truth for the sake of 
the praise of truth is not truthful. The man who is honest 
because honesty is the best policy has not integrity in his 
heart. He who endeavors to be humble, and holy, and per- 
fect, in order to win heaven, has only a counterfeit religion. 
God for His own sake — Goodness because it is good — 
Truth because it is lovely, — this is the Christian's aim. 
The prize is only an incentive; inseparable from success, but 
not the aim itself. 

The sowers of earth have their harvest here: Success in 
their schemes — quiet, intellectual enjoyment — exemption 
from pain and loss — the fruits of worldy-w^ise sagacity ; 
and that is all. " When the breath goeth forth they return 
to fheir dust, and all their thoughts perish." The grave is 
not to them the gate of paradise, but simply the impressive 
mockery which the hand of death writes upon that body for 
which they lived, and with which all is gone. They reap 
corruption, for all they have toiled for decays! 



178 ROBERTSON'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

It is a Christian duty to dwell much more on the thought 
of future blessedness than most men do. If ever the apostle's 
step began to flag, the radiant diadem before him gave new 
vigor to his heart; and we know^ how at the close of his 
career the vision became more vivid and more entrancing: 
''Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of glory!" 
It is our privilege, if we are on our way to God, to keep 
steadily before us the thought of Home. Make it a matter 
of habit. Force yourself at night, alone, in the midst of 
the world's bright sights, to pause to think of the heaven 
which is yours. Let it calm you and ennoble you, and give 
you cheerfulness to endure. It was so that Moses was en- 
abled to live among all the fascinations of his courtly life, 
with a heart unseduced from his laborious destiny. By 
faith * * * "esteeming the reproach of Christ greater 
riches than the treasures of Egypt." Why? "For he had 
respect unto the recompense of the reward." It was so that 
our Master strengthened His Human Soul for its sharp 
earthly endurance. " For the joy that was set before Him 
He endured the cross, despising the shame." If we would 
become heavenly-minded, we must let the imagination 
realize the blessedness to which we are moving on. Let us 
think much of rest, — the rest which is not of indolence, but 
of powers in perfect equilibrium; the rest which is deep 
as summer midnight, yet full of life and force as summer 
sunshine, the Sabbath of Eternity. Let us think of the love 
of God, which we shall feel in its full tide upon our souls. 
Let us think of that marvelous career of sublime occupation 
which shall belong to the spirits of just men made perfect; 
when we shall fill a higher place in God's universe, and 
more consciously, and with more distinct insight, cooperate 
with God in the rule over His Creation. " I press toward 
the mark — for the prize." 

The reward is not arbitrary, but natural. God's rewards 
and God's punishments are all natural. Distinguish be- 
tween arbitrary and natural. Death is an arbitrary pun- 
ishment for forgery: it might be changed for transporta- 
tion. It is not naturally connected; it depends upon the 
will of the law-maker. But trembling nerves are the 
direct and natural results of intemperance. They are, in 



SABBATH. 179 

the order of nature, the results of wrong doing. The man 
reaps what he has sown. Similarly in rewards. If God 
gave riches in return for humbleness, that would be an 
arbitrary connection. He did give such a reward to Solo- 
mon. But when He gives life eternal, meaning by life 
eternal, not duration of existence, but heavenly quality of 
existence, as explained already, it is all natural. The seed 
sown in the ground contains in itself the future harvest: 
the harvest is but the development of the germ of life in 
the seed. A holy act strengthens the inward holiness: it 
is a seed of life growing into more life. " Whatsoever a 
man soweth, that shall he reap." He that sows much, 
thereby becomes more conformed to God than he was be- 
fore, in heart and spirit: that is his reward and harvest. 
And just as among the apostles there w^as one whose spirit, 
attuned to love, made him emphatically the disciple whom 
Jesus loved, so shall there be some who, b}' previous disci- 
pline of the Holy Ghost, shall have more of His mind, and 
understand more of His love, and drink deeper of His joy, 
than others, — they that have sowed bountifully. 

Every act done in Christ receives its exact and appro- 
priate reward. They that are meek shall inherit the earth: 
they that are pure shall see God: they that suffer shall 
reign with Him: they that turn many to righteousness 
shall shine as the stars forever: they that receive a right- 
eous man in the name of a righteous man, — that is, because 
he is a righteous man, — shall receive a righteous man's 
reward. Even the cup of cold water, given in the name of 
Christ, shall not lose its reward. 

SABBATH. 

Physiologists have demonstrated the necessity of cessa- 
tion from toil: they have urged the impossibility of perpet- 
ual occupation without end. Pictures, with much pathos in 
them, have been placed before us describing the hard fate 
of those on whom no Sabbath dawns. It has been demanded 
as a right, entreated as a mercy, on behalf of the laboring 
man, that he should have one day in seven for recreation of 
his bodily energies. All well and true, but there is a 
great deal more than this. He who confines his conception 



180 ROBERTSOI^'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

of the need of rest to that has left man on a level with the 
brutes. Let a man take merely lax and liberal notions of 
the fourth commandment: let him give his household and 
dependents immunity from toil, and wish for himself and 
them no more, — he will find that there is a something 
wanting still. Experience tells us, after a trial, that those 
Sundays are the happiest, the purest, the most rich in bless- 
ing, in which the spiritual part has been most attended to; 
those in which the business letter was put aside till even- 
ing, and the profane literature not opened, and the ordinary 
occupations entirely suspended; those in which, as in the 
temple of Solomon, the sound of the earthly hammer has 
not been heard in the temple of the soul. 

There is in the Sabbath that which is shadowy and that 
which is substantial; that which is transient and that which 
is permanent; that which is temporal and typical and that 
which is eternal: — the shadow and the body. 

You may abrogate the formal rule, but you cannot abro- 
gate the needs of your own soul. Eternal as the constitu- 
tion of the soul of man is the necessity for the existence of 
a day of rest. 

I AM persuaded that the Sabbath must rest not on an 
enactment, but on the necessities of human nature. It is 
necessary not because it is commanded, but it is commanded 
because it is necessary. If the Bible says "Eat the herb of 
the field," self-sustenance does not become a duty in conse- 
quence of the enactment, but the enactment is only a state- 
ment of the law of human nature. And so with the Sab- 
bath, and this appears to be a truer and a far more impreg- 
nable base to place it on. For as to the enactment, great 
part of it is indisputably dispensed with. The day, the 
mode of observance, the manner of computing the twenty- 
four hours from twelve to twelve, or from sunset to sunset, — ^ 
if these be ceremonial, who is to prove that the number one 
in seven is not ceremonial too, and that it might not be 
changed for one in ten? If all this is got rid of, and "no 
manner of work" is construed to permit hot dinners and 
fly-driving on the Sabbath, then it is only an arbitra.ry dis- 



SKEPTICISM. 181 

tinction to call any other part of it, or even the whole of it, 
of moral and eternal instead of ceremonial obligation. You 
cannot base it on a law, but you can show that the law was 
based on an eternal fitness. There I think it never can be 
dislodged. 

SKEPTICISM. 

The reaction from superstition is infidelity. The re- 
action from ultra-strictness is laxity. The reaction from 
Pharisaism was the Sadducee; and the Sadducee, with a 
dreadful daring, had had the firmness to say, " Well, 
then, there is no life to come: that is settled. I have 
looked into the abyss without trembling: there is no 
phantom there. There is neither angel, spirit, nor life to 
come. And this glorious thing, man, with his deep thoughts 
and his great, unsatisfied heart, his sorrows and his loves, 
godlike and immortal as he seems, is but dust animated for 
a time, passing into the nothingness out of which he came." 
That cold and hopeless creed was the creed of Sadduceeism. 
Human souls were trying to live on that, and find it enough. 

And skepticism, will it rock the conscience with an ever- 
lasting lullaby? Will it make, with all its reasonings, the 
tooth of the worm less sharp, and the fire less fierce that 
smoulders inwardly? Let but the plain, true man speak. 
We ask from him no rhetoric; we require no eloquence. 
Let him but say, in his earnestness. Repent — or — Wrath 
to come, — and then what has infidelity to fall back upon? 

There is rest in this world nowhere except in Christ, the 
Manifested Love of God. Trust in excellence, and the better 
you become the keener is the feeling of deficiency. Wrap 
up all in doubt, and there is a stern voice that will thunder 
at last out of the wilderness upon your dream. 

A heart renewed — a loving heart — a penitent and 
humble heart — a heart broken and contrite, purified by 
love, — that, and only that, is the rest of man. Spotlessness 
may do for angels : Repentance unto Life is the highest 
that belongs to man. 

Now look at all this without Christ, and tell us whether 
it be possible to escape such misgivings, and such reason- 



182 ROBERTSON'S LIYIJs'G THOUGHTS. 

ings as these which rise out of such an aspect of things. 
Man, this thing of yesterday, which sprung out of the 
eternal nothingness, — why may he not sink, after he has 
played his appointed part, into nothingness again? You 
see the leaves sinking one by one in autumn, till the heaps 
below are rich with the spoils of a whole year's vegetation. 
They were bright and perfect while they lasted, each leaf 
a miracle of beauty and contrivance. There is no resur- 
rection for the leaves, why must there be one for man? 
Go and stand some summer evening by the river side: you 
will see the Mayfly sporting out its little hour, in dense 
masses of insect life, darkening the air a few feet above the 
gentle swell of the water. The heat of that very afternoon 
brought them into existence. Every gauze wing is tra- 
versed by ten thousand fibres which defy the microscope to 
find a flaw in their perfection. The Omniscience and the 
care bestowed upon that exquisite anatomy, one would 
think, cannot be destined to be wasted in a moment. Yet 
so it is : when the sun has sunk between the trees, its little 
life is done. Yesterday it was not: to-morrow it will not 
be. God has bidden it be happy for one evening: it has 
no right or claim to a second, and in the universe that 
marvelous life has appeared once and will appear no more. 
May not the race of man sink like the generations of the 
Mayfly? Why cannot the Creator, so lavish in His resources, 
aff'ord to annihilate souls as he annihilates insects? 

Would it not almost enhance His glory to believe it? 

That, brethren, is the question; and Nature has no 
reply. The fearful secret of sixty centuries has not yet 
found a voice. The whole evidence lies before us. We 
know what the greatest and wisest have had to say in favor 
of, an immortality ; and we know how, after eagerly de- 
vouring all their arguments, our hearts have sunk back in 
cold disappointment, and to every proof as we read our 
lips have replied mournfully, that will not stand. Search 
through tradition, history, the world within you and the 
world without, — except in Christ there is not the shadow 
of a shade of proof that man survives the grave. 

See what these skeptics require us to believe, — that all 
those who have shed a sunshine upon earth, and whose 



SKEPTICISM. 183 

affections were so pure and good that they seemed to tell 
you of an eternity, perished utterly, as the selfish and im- 
pure! You are required to believe that those who died in 
the field of battle, bravely giving up their lives for others, 
died even as the false and the coward dies. You are required 
to believe that, when there arose a great cry at midnight, 
and the wreck went down, they who passed out of the world 
with the oath of blasphemy, or the shriek of despair, shared 
the same fate with those who calmly resigned their departing 
spirits into their Father's hand, with nothing but an awful 
silence to greet them, like that which greeted the priests 
of Baal on Mount Carmel! You are required to believe 
that the pure and wise of this world have all been wrong, 
and the selfish and sensual all right. If from this you 
shrink as from a thing derogatory to God, then there re- 
mains but that conclusion to which St. Paul conducts us: 
" Now is Christ risen from the dead." The spiritual resur- 
rection is but the mere foretaste and pledge of the literal. 
Let us, brethren, seek to rise with Christ above this world 
and our own selves, for every act tells on that eternity, 
every thought and every word reap an everlasting harvest. 

Young men are prone to consider skepticism a proof of 
strong-mindedness, — a something to be proud of. Let 
Pilate be a specimen, — and a wretched one he is. He had 
clear-mindedness enough to be dissatisfied with all the views 
he knew; enough to see through and scorn the squabbles 
and superstitions of priests and bigots. All well, if from 
doubt of falsehood he had gone on to a belief in a higher 
truth ; but doubt, when it left him doubting — why, the 
noblest opportunity man ever had, that of saving the Sa- 
viour, he missed: he became a thing for the people to despise, 
and after ages to pity. And that is skepticism. Call you 
that a manly thing? 

To believe is to be happy : to doubt is to be wretched. 

Doubt cramps energy: belief is power. Only so far as 
a man believes strongly, mightily, can he act cheerfully, or 
do anything that is worth the doing. 

I speak to those who have learned to hold cheap the 
threats wherewith priests and people would terrify into ac- 



184 Robertson's living thoughts. 

quiescence, — to those who are beyond the appeal of fear, and 
can only yield, if at all, to higher motives. Young men, the 
only manly thing, the only strong thing, is faith. It is not 
so far as a man doubts, but so far as he believes, that he can 
achieve or perfect anything. *' All things are possible to 
him that bdieveth,''' 

I CAN conceive a severe science compelling a mind step 
by step to the atheistic conclusions; and that mind, loyal 
to truth, refusing to ignore the conclusions or to hide them. 
But then I can only conceive this done in a noble sadness, 
and a kind of divine infinite pity toward the race which are 
so bereft of their best hopes; and have no patience with a 
self-complacent smirk which says, "Shut up the prophets; 
read Martineau and Atkinson. Friendship, Patriotism, are 
mesmerized brain; Faith, a mistake of the stomach; Love, a 
titillatory movement occurring in the upper part of the 
nape of the neck; Immortality, the craving of dyspepsia; 
God, a fancy produced by a certain pressure upon the gray 
parts of the hasty-pudding within the skull; Shakspeare, 
Plato, Hannibal, and all they did and wrote, weighed by an 
extra ounce or two of said pudding." 

Infidelity is the vaguest of all charges. None is more 
freely, or more wantonly, or more cruelly hurled by man 
against man. Infidelity is often only the unmeaning ac- 
cusation brought by timid persons, half-conscious of the in- 
stability of their own belief, and furious against every one 
whose words make them tremble at their own insecurity. 
It is sometimes the cry of narrowness against an old truth 
under a new and more spiritual form. Sometimes it is the 
charge caught up at a second-hand, and repeated as a kind of 
religious hue and cry, in profoundest ignorance of the opin- 
ions that are so characterized. Nothing is more melancholy 
than to listen to the wild, indiscriminate charges of Skepticism, 
Mysticism, Pantheism, Rationalism, Atheism, which are made 
by some of the weakest of mankind, who scarcely know the 
difference between Mesmerism and Mysticism. I hold it a 
Christian duty to abstain from this foolish and wicked sys- 
tem of labeling men with names ; to stand aloof from every 



SKEPTICISM. 185 

mob, religious or irreligious in name, which resembles that 
mob at Ephesus who shouted for two long hours, the more 
part knowing not wherefore they were come together. 

When the most spiritual minds of the sixteenth century 
protested against Rome, Protestantism was called infidelity. 
Eighteen centuries ago the Christians were burned at the 
stake under the name of Atheists. The Athenians poisoned 
their noblest man as an Atheist. Only a few weeks ago 
I saw one of the most precious works of one of the wisest of 
the Christian philosophers of England — Samuel Taylor 
Coleridge — denounced as the most pestilential work of our 
day, by one of those miserable publications miscalled re- 
ligious newspapers, whose unhallowed work it seems to be 
on earth to point out to its votaries whom they ought to 
suspect instead of whom they ought to love, and to sow the 
seeds of dissension, malice, hatred, and all uncharitableness. 
Nay, I cannot but remember that, in bygone years. One 
whose whole life was one continued prayer, the sum and 
substance of whose teaching was love to God and love to 
man, was crucified by the bigots of his day as a Sabbath- 
breaker, a blasphemer, and a revolutionist. Therefore I 
refuse to thunder out indiscriminate anathemas to-night. 
Real infidelity is a fearful thing, but I have learned to hold 
the mere charge of infidelity very cheap. And I earnestly 
would impress on all the duty of being cautious in the use 
of these charges. Give a man the name of Atheist, hint 
that he is verging upon infidelity, and the man is doomed; 
doomed as surely as the wretched animal which is pursued 
by the hue and cry of bad boys, and which, driven from 
street to street, maddened by the ceaseless rattle of the tin 
appended to him, expires at last, gasping, furious, amidst the 
shrieks of old women and the stones of terrified passengers, 
who are all the more savage in proportion to their terror; 
for cowardice is always cruel. 

Again, I abstain from denunciation because not infre- 
quently even that which professes to be infidelity is dis- 
belief, not of God, but of the character which men have 
given of God; opposition to the name of Christ, but not to 
the Spirit of Christ; hatred rather of the portrait by which 
his followers have represented him. 
8* 



186 Robertson's living thoughts. 

Doubts can only be dispelled by that kind of active life 
that realizes Christ. And there is no faith that gives a 
victory so steadily triumphant as that. When such a man 
comes near the opening of the vault, it is no world of 
sorrows he is entering upon. He is only going to see things 
that he has felt, for he has been living in heaven. He has 
his grasp on things that other men are only groping after 
and touching now and then. Live above this world, breth- 
ren, and then the powers of the world to come are so upon 
you that there is no room for doubt. 

There is an infidelity with which no good man should 
have any sympathy. There are infidels who are such, 
knowing what they oppose. There are men who, in no 
mistake, know the difference between good and evil, and, 
distinctly knowing it, choose the evil and reject the good. 
But there is a state called infidelity which deserves com- 
passion rather than indignation, — the dreadful state of one 
who craves light and cannot find it. I do think the way 
we treat that state is most unpardonably cruel. It is an 
awful moment when the soul begins to find that the props 
on which it has blindly rested so long are, many of them, 
rotten, and begins to suspect them all; when it begins to 
feel the nothingness of many of the traditionary opinions 
which have been received with implicit confidence, and in 
that horrible insecurity begins also to doubt whether there 
be anything to believe at all. It is an awful hour — let 
him who has passed through it say how awful — w4ien this 
life has lost its meaning, and seems shriveled into a span; 
when the grave appears to be the end of all, human good- 
ness nothing but a name, and the sky above this universe a 
dead expanse, black with the void from which God Himself 
has disappeared. In that fearful loneliness of spirit, when 
those who should have been his fi-iends and counselors only 
frown upon his misgivings, and profanely bid him stifle 
doubts, which for aught he knows may arise from the foun- 
tain of truth itself; to extinguish, as a glare from hell, that 
which for aught he knows may be light from heaven, and 
everything seem wrapped in hideous uncertainty ; — I know 
but one way in which a man may come forth from his 
agony scathless; it is by holding fast to those things which 



SKEPTICISM. 187 

are certain still, — the grand, simple landmarks of morality. 
In the darkest hour through which a human soul can pass, 
whatever else is doubtful, this at least is certain. If there 
be no God and no future state, yet, even then, it is better 
to be generous than selfish, better to be chaste than licen- 
tious, better to be true than false, better to be brave than 
to be a coward. Blessed beyond all earthly blessedness is 
the man who, in the tempestuous darkness of the soul, has 
dared to hold fast to these venerable landmarks. Thrice 
blessed is he who, when all is drear and cheerless within 
and without, when his teachers terrify him and his friends 
shrink from him, has obstinately clung to moral good; 
thrice blessed, because his night shall pass into clear, 
bright day. 

I appeal to the recollection of any man who has passed 
through that hour of agony, and stood upon the rock at 
last, the surges stilled below him and the last cloud drifted 
from the sky above, with a faith, and hope, and trust, no 
longer traditional, but of his own, a trust which neither 
earth nor hell shall shake thenceforth forever. But it is 
not in this way generally that men act who are tempted by 
doubt. Generally, the step from doubt is a reckless plunge 
into sensuality. Then comes the darkening of the moral 
being; and then from uncertainty and skepticism it may be 
that the path lies unobstructed sheer down into Atheism. 
But if there be one on earth who deserves compassion, it is 
the sincere, earnest, and — may I say it without risk of 
being misunderstood — honest doubter! Let who will de- 
nounce him, I will not. I would stand by his side and say. 
Courage, my brother! You are darkening your own soul; 
you are contradicting the meaning of your own existence. 
But God is your Father, and an Infinite Spirit seeks to 
mingle itself with yours. 

Alas, alas! you do not believe that you have a soul — you 
do not believe in God — you do not believe that His spirit can 
find your soul — you believe in the dial and not in the sun 
— you dare not be alone with Christ — you do not feel the 
solitary yet humbling grandeur of being in His vast universe 
alone as He was, with your Father. His life is not the pat- 
tern of your life, and His divine humanity is not the inter- 



188 ROBERTSON'S LIVIKG THOUGHTS. 

pretation of the mysteries of your solitary being. You can- 
not walk the valley of the shadow of death fearlessly, as 
David did, because " Thou art with me." 

Religious controversy is fast settling into a conflict be- 
tween two great extreme parties, — those who believe every- 
thing, and those who believe nothing ; the disciples of credu- 
lity and the disciples of skepticism. 

The Atheist is not merely he who professes unbelief, but, 
strictly speaking, every one who lives without God in the 
world. 

i SILENCE. 

Meditation is done in silence. By it we renounce our nar- 
row individuality, and expatiate into that which is infinite. 
Only in the sacredness of inward silence does the soul truly 
meet the secret, hiding God. The strength of resolve, which 
afterward shapes life and mixes itself with action, is the 
fruit of those sacred, solitary moments. There is a divine 
depth in silence. We meet God alone. 

SIN. 

Original sin is an awful fact. It is not the guilt of an 
ancestor imputed to an innocent descendant, but it is the 
tendencies of that ancestor living in his offspring and incur- 
ring guilt. Original sin can be forgiven only so far as 
original sin is removed. It is not Adam's, it is yours; and 
it must cease to be yours, or else what is " taking away 
original sin " ? 

It is an awful thing to see a soul in ruins: like a temple 
which once was fair and noble, but now lies overthrown, mat- 
ted with ivy, weeds and tangled briers, among which things 
loathsome crawl and live. He shall reap the harvest of dis- 
appointment, — the harvest of bitter, useless remorse. The 
crime of sense is avenged by sense, which wears by time. 
He shall have the worm that gnaws, and the fire that is not 
quenched. He shall reap the fruit of long indulged desires, 
which have become tyrannous at last, and constitute him his 



siiq-. 189 

own tormenter. His harvest is a soul in flames, and the 
tongue that no drop can cool; passions that burn, and ap- 
petites that crave, when the power of enjoyment is gone. 
He has sowed to the flesh. " God is not mocked." The man 
reaps. 

Here, then, is the nature of sin. Sin is not the possession 
of desires, but the having them in uncontrolled ascendency 
over the higher nature. Sinfulness does not consist in 
having strong desires or passions: in the strongest and 
highest natures, all, including the desires, is strong. Sin is 
not a real thing. It is rather the absence of a something, — 
the will to do right. It is not a disease or taint — an actual 
substance — injected into the constitutioii. It is the absence 
of the spirit which orders and harmonizes the whole; so 
that what we mean when we say the natural man must sin 
inevitably is this, that he has strong natural appetites, and 
that he has no bias from above to counteract those appetites: 
exactly as if a ship were deserted by the crew, and left on 
the bosom of the Atlantic with every sail set and the wind 
blowing. No one forces her to destruction, yet on the rocks 
she will surely go, just because there is no pilot at the helm. 
Such is the state of ordinary men. Temptation leads to fall. 
The gusts of instincts, which rightly guided would have car- 
ried safely into port, dash them on the rocks. No one forces 
them to sin, but the spirit-pilot has left the helm. [Fallen 
Nature.] 

Sin, therefore, is not in the appetites, but in the absence 
of a controlling will. 

Let us analyze sin. In every act of sin there are two 
distinct steps: there is the rising of a desire which is 
natural, and, being natural, is not wrong: there is the in- 
dulgence of that desire in forbidden circumstances, and 
that is sin. Let injury, for example, be inflicted, and re- 
sentment will arise. It must arise spontaneously. It is as 
impossible for injustice to be done, and resentment not to 
follow, as it is for the flesh not to quiver on the application 
of intense torture. Resentment is but the sense of injus- 
tice made more vivid by its being brought home to our- 
selves: resentment is beyond our control, so far. There is 



190 robeetson's living thoughts. 

no sin in this: but let resentment rest there, — let it pass 
into, not justice, but revenge, — let it smoulder in vindic- 
tive feeling till it becomes retaliation, — and then a natural 
feeling has grown into a transgression. 

And oh, the untold world of agony contained in that 
expression " a lost soul "! — agony exactly in proportion to 
the nobleness of original powers. For it is a strange and 
mournful truth, that the qualities which enable men to 
shine are exactly those which minister to the worst ruin. 
God's highest gifts — talent, beauty, feeling, imagination, 
power, — they carry with them the possibility of the highest 
heaven and the lowest hell. Be sure that it is by that 
which is highest in you that you may be lost. It is the 
awful warning, and not the excuse of evil, that the light 
which leads astray is light from heaven. The shallow 
fishing-boat glides safely over the reefs where the noble 
bark strands: it is the very might and majesty of her 
career that bury the sharp rock deeper in her bosom. 

The motive on which a deed of sin is done is not the 
motive which a man allows to others or whispers to himself. 
Listen to the criminal receiving sentence, and the cause of 
condemnation is not the enormity of the crime, but the in- 
justice of the country's law. Hear the man of disorderly 
life, whom society has expelled from her bosom, and the 
cause of the expulsion is not his profligacy, but the false 
slander which has misrepresented him. Take his own ac- 
count of the matter, and he is innocent, injured, pure. 
For there are names so tender, and so full of fond endear- 
ment, with which this world sugars over its dark guilt 
toward God with a crust of superficial whiteness, that the 
sin on which eighteen centuries have looked back appalled 
was, to the doers of that sin, nothing atrocious, but respect- 
able, defensible, nay, even, under the circumstances, neces- 
sary. 

God does not predestinate men to fail. That is strik- 
ingly told in the history of Judas — " From a ministry and 
apostleship Judas fell, that he might go to his own place." 
The ministry and apostleship were that to which God had 



SIN. 191 

destined him. To work out that was the destiny appointed 
to him, as truly as to any of the other apostles. He was 
called, elected to that. But when he refused to execute 
that mission, the very circumstances which, by God's decree, 
were leading him to blessedness, hurried him to ruin. Cir- 
cumstances prepared by Eternal Love became the destiny 
which conducted him to everlasting doom. He was a pre- 
destined man — crushed by his fate. But he went to his 
" 01V71 place." He had shaped his own destiny. So the ship 
is wrecked by the winds and waves — hurried to its fate. 
But the winds and waves were in truth its best friends. 
Rightly guided, it would have made use of them to reach 
the port; wrongly steered, they became the destiny which 
drove it on the rocks. Failure, the wreck of life, is not 
to be impiously traced to the Will of God. God will have 
all men to be saved, and come to a knowledge of the truth. 
God willeth not the death of a sinner. 

He was the victim of sin — He died by sin. It is the 
appalling mystery of our redemption that the Redeemer 
took the attitude of subjection to evil. There was scarcely 
a form of evil with which Christ did not come in contact, 
and by which He did not suffer. He was the victim of false 
friendship and ingratitude, the victim of bad government 
and injustice. He fell a sacrifice to the vices of all classes, 
to the selfishness of the rich and the fickleness of the 
poor: intolerance, formalism, skepticism, hatred of goodness, 
were the foes which crushed Him. 

The extent to which sin hardens depends partly on the 
estimate taken of it by society. The falsehood of Abraham, 
the guilt and violence of David, were very different in their 
effect on character in an age when truth and purity and 
gentleness were scarcely recognized, from what they would 
be now. Then Abraham and David had not so sinned 
against their consciences as a man would sin now in doing 
the same acts, because their consciences were less enlightened. 

This is the worst burden that comes from transgression: 
loss of faith in human goodness; the being sentenced to go 
through life haunted with a presence from which we cannot 



192 ^ ROBERTSOIS^'S LIVIK^G THOUGHTS. 

escape; the presence of evil in the hearts of all that we 
approach. 

The consequences of sin are meant to wean from sin. 
The penalty annexed to it is, in the first instance, corrective, 
not penal. Fire burns the child, to teach it one of the 
truths of this universe — the property of fire to burn. The 
first time it cuts its hand with a sharp knife, it has gained 
a lesson which it never will forget. Now, in the case of 
pain, this experience is seldom, if ever, in vain. There is 
little chance of a child forgetting that fire will burn, and 
that sharp steel will cut; but the moral lessons contained in 
the penalties annexed to wrong-doing are just as truly in- 
tended, though they are by no means so unerring in enforc- 
ing their application. The fever in the veins and the head- 
ache which succeed intoxication are meant to warn against 
excess. On the first occasion they are simply corrective; in 
every succeeding one they assume more and more a penal 
character in proportion as the conscience carries with them 
the sense of ill desert. 

Sorrow, then, has done its work when it deters from evil; 
in other words, when it works repentance. In the sorrow 
of the world the obliquity of the heart toward evil is not 
cured; it seems as if nothing cured it; heartache and trials 
come in vain; the history of life at last is what it was at 
first. The man is found erring where he erred before, — the 
same course, begun with the certainty of the same desperate 
end, which has taken place so often before. 

The hardening effects of sin, which save from pain, are 
worse judgments than the sharpest suffering. Anguish is, 
I am more and more sure, corrective; hardness has in it no 
hope. Which would 3^ou choose if you were compelled to 
make a choice? — the torture of a dividing limb granulating 
again, and by the very torture giving indications of life, or 
the painlessness of mortification? the worse throb from the 
surgeon's knife, or ossification of the heart? In the spiritual 
world, the pangs of the most exquisite sensitiveness cut to 
the quick by the sense of fault and aching almost hopelessly, 
but leaving conscience still alive, and aspiration still un- 
crushed, or the death of every remnant of what is good, 



siN^. 193 

the ossification of the soul, the painless extinction of the 
moral being, its very self ? This is my reply to myself. 
The whole mystery of pain has been unraveling itself to 
my heart gradually, and now that I have got a clue, the 
worse than Cretan labyrinth turns out to be harmonious 
and beautiful arrangement, so that the paths which are still 
unexplored I can now believe a part of the same plan. 
Pain has long ceased to be an unintelligible mystery to me. 
Agony and anguish, — oh, in these, far more than in sun- 
shine, I can read a meaning and believe in infinite love! 

Learn the individual character of sin — its personal ori- 
gin, and personal identity. There can be no transference 
of it. It is individual and incommunicable. My sin cannot 
be your sin, nor yours mine. 

There are persons who go through life sinning and sor- 
rowing, sorrowing and sinning. No experience teaches 
them. Torrents of tears flow from their eyes. ' They are 
full of eloquent regrets. You cannot find it in your heart 
to condemn them, for their sorrow is so graceful and touch- 
ing, so full of penitence and self-condemnation. But tears, 
heart-breaks, repentance, warnings, are all in vain. Where 
they did wrong once, they do wrong again. What are such 
persons to do in the next life? Where will the Elis of this 
world be? God only knows. But Christ has said, '^ Not 
every one that saith unto me. Lord, Lord, shall enter into 
the kingdom of heaven." 

Evil in a thousand forms surrounds us. We are the 
victims of physical and moral evil, and till this is put down 
forever the completeness of the individual cannot be; for 
we are bound up with the universe. Talk of the perfect 
happiness of any unit man while the race still mourns! Why, 
the evils of the race fall on him every day. Talk of the per- 
fect bliss of any spirit while the spiritual kingdom is incom- 
plete ! No, the golden close is yet to come, and the blessing 
of the individual parts can only be with the blessing of the 
whole. And so the apostle speaks of the whole creafion 
groaning and travailing in pain together until now, " wait- 
ing for the adoption, to- wit, the redemption of our body." 
Q 



194 ROBERTSo:sr's living thoughts. 

There are those who lead the life of the ephemeron, in 
whom there is nothing immortal, spending their days like 
the beasts that perish, — nay, less fitted for eternity than 
they. No deep thoughts, no acts fought out on deep abiding 
principles, have been theirs. They live mere accidental be- 
ings, light mortals who dance their giddy round above the 
abysses, looking at the things seen with transient tears for 
sorrow and transient smiles for joy. This life is their all; 
and at last they have fluttered out their time, and go forth 
into endless night. Why not? — what is there in them that 
is not even now perishing? 

Your foe in this world is vice, the devil-nature in you 
and in me; it is in ourselves that our foe is; conquer that, 
spend half the energy in trampling that down which is spent 
in religious controversy with Christians, and the kingdom 
of God will soon be established in this world. 

It is to be observed there is a difference between sin and 
transgression. Every sin is a transgression of the law, but 
every transgression of the law is not necessarily a sin. 
Whosoever committeth sin transgresseth also the law. Now 
mark the difference. It is possible for a man to transgress 
the law of God, not knowingly, and then in inspired lan- 
guage we are told that " sin is not imputed unto him." Yet 
for all that, the penalty will follow whenever a man trans- 
gresses, but the chastisement which belongs to sin, to known 
willful transgression, will not follow. 

There are moments when we can soar above the world; 
when, by God's Spirit, we deem nothing too high, too brave, 
too true, to which we may not aspire; when we could go 
through this world, with our staff in our hands, asking only 
to be permitted to believe, to suffer, and to love. And 
there are other times, when we are forced to feel that there 
is no meanness of which we are not capable; when we are 
so startled at ourselves that we are ready to cry, '' Can I be 
such a villain? Is there no difference between me, and one 
exposed to public infamy on the hulks or on the scaffold, 
save that he was tempted, and I was not? " I know that I 
am speaking the experience of many a man in this congre- 



SINCERITY. 195 

gation, when I say that he has known something of these 
diviner feelings, and something of this feeling of inward 
degradation. 

« 
The heart — the heart — there is the evil! The imagina- 
tion, which was given to spiritualize the senses, is often 
turned into a means of sensualizing the spirit. Beware of 
reverie, and indulgence in forbidden images, unless you 
would introduce into your bosom a serpent, which will 
creep, and crawl, and leave the venom of its windings in 
your heart. 

There was no germ of sin in Christ; for sin is the acting 
of an evil will. Sin resides in the will, not in the natural 
appetites. There was no germ of sin in Him ; but there were 
germs of feeling, natural and innocent, which show that He 
was in all points tempted like as we are. 

Sin is detestable, horrible, in God's sight, and when once 
it has been made clear that it is not lawful, a Christian has 
nothing to do with toleration of it. 

Past sin may be made a stepping-stone to heaven. 

There are two classes of sins. There are some sins by 
which man crushes, wounds, malevolently injures his brother 
man: those sins which speak of a bad, tyrannical and selfish 
heart. Christ met those with denunciation. There are 
other sins by which a man injures himself. There is a life 
of reckless indulgence; there is a career of yielding to un- 
governable propensities, which most surely conducts to 
wretchedness and ruin, but makes a man an object of com- 
passion rather than of condemnation. 

God sees sin not in its consequences but in itself, — a thing 
infinitely evil, even if the consequences were happiness to 
the guilty instead of misery. 

SINCERITY. 

It is -beautiful to see men sincere without being haunted 
with the consciousness of their sincerity. There is a sickly 



196 Robertson's livikg thoughts. 

habit that men get of looking into themselves and thinking 
how they are appearing. We are always unnatural when 
we do that. The very tread of one who is thinking how he 
appears to others becomes dizzy with affectation. He is too 
conscious of what he is doing, and self-consciousness is affec- 
tation. Let us aim at being natural, and we can only be- 
come natural by thinking of God and duty, instead of the 
way in which we are serving God and duty. 

The thing we want in Christianity is not politeness, it 
is sincerity. 

SLANDER. . 

It is not even necessary that a word should be distinctly 
uttered; a dropped lip and arched eyebrow, a shrugged 
shoulder, a significant look, an incredulous expression of 
countenance, nay, even an emphatic silence, may do the 
work; and when the light and trifling thing which has done 
the mischief has fluttered off, the venom is left behind to 
work and rankle, to inflame hearts, to fever human exist- 
ence, and to poison human society at the fountain-springs 
of life. Yery emphatically was it said by one whose whole 
being had smarted under such affliction, ''Adder's poison is 
under their lips." 

Neither can you stop the consequences of a slander. You 
may publicly prove its falsehood, you may sift every atom, 
explain and annihilate it; and yet, years after you had 
thought that all had been disposed of forever, the mention 
of a name w^akes up associations in the mind of some one 
who heard the calumny, but never heard or never attended 
to the refutation, or who has only a vague and confused 
recollection of the whole. 

The first introduction of a demon spirit is found con- 
nected with a slanderous insinuation against the Almighty, 
implying that His command had been given in envy of His 
creature: "For God doth know that in the day ye eat 
thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as 
gods, knowing good and evil." 



SOCIETY. 197 

Love is the only remedy for slander. No set of rules or 
restrictions can stop it. We may denounce, but we shall 
denounce in vain. 

No innocence will shield, no honor, nor integrity bright 
as the sun itself, will keep off altogether the biting breath 
of calumny. 

I HUMBLY console myself with remembering that One, 
before whom my spirit bows with adoration profounder in 
proportion as I understand Him and His infinite mind, was 
in His day reckoned an infidel and a latitudinarian world- 
ling by the religious, and an anarchist whom it was fatal to 
the respectability of Caesar's friend to even defend. Oh, 
for his sublime, brave. Divine truthfulness! 

SOCIETY. 

There is a growing tendency to look on a life of con- 
templation and retirement, of separation from all earthly 
ties — in a word, asceticism — as the higher life. Let us 
understand that God has so made man, that ordinarily he 
who lives alone leaves part of his heart uncultivated, for 
God made man for domestic life. He who would be wiser 
than his Maker is only wise in appearance. He who culti- 
vates one part of his nature at the expense of the rest has 
not produced a perfect man, but an exaggeration. It is 
easy, in silence and solitude, for the hermit to be abstracted 
from all human interests and hopes, to be dead to honor, 
dead to pleasure. But, then, the sympathies which make 
him a man with men — how shall they grow? He is not 
the highest Christian who lives alone and single, but he 
who, whether single or married, lives superior to this earth; 
he who, in the midst of domestic cares, petty annoyances, or 
daily vexations, can still be calm, and serene, and sweet. 
That is real unworldliness; and, in comparison with this, 
the mere hermit's life is easy indeed. 

The spirit of religious exclusiveness, which looks down 
contemptuously instead of tenderly on worldly men, and 



198 uobkhtson's uviko TuorouTS. 

banishes a man forever from the circle of its joys because he 
has sinned notoriously, is a bad spirit. 

Lastly, the reason given for this dealing' is, " Son, tliou 
art always with me. and all that 1 have is thine." By which 
Christ seems to tell us that the disproportion between man 
and man is much less than we suppose. The protligate had 
had one hour of ecstasy, — the other had had a whole life of 
ecstasy. 

\Vk value a gift in proportion to its rariiy, us distinctive 
character, separating its possessor from the rest of his fel- 
low-men; whereas, in truth, those gift« which leave us in 
lonely majesty apart from our species, useless to them, bene- 
titinof ourselves alone, are not the most Oodlike, but the least 
so: because they are dissevered from that beneficent charity 
which is the very being of God. Your lofty incommunica- 
ble thoughts, your ecstasies, and aspirations, and contempla- 
tive raptures. — in virtue of which you have estimated 
yourself as the porcelain of the earth, of another nature 
altogether than the clay of common spirits — tried by the 
test of charity, — what is there grand in these if they cannot 
be applied as blessings to those that are beneath you? One 
of our countrymen has achieved for himself extraordinary 
scientific renown: he pierced the mysteries of nature, he 
analyzed her processes, he gave new elements to the world. 
The same man applied his rare intellect to the construction 
of a simple and very common instrument — that well-known 
lamp which has been the guardian of the miner's life from 
the explosion of fire. His discoveries are his nobility in 
this world: his trifling invention gives him rank in the 
world to come. By the former he shines as one of the 
brightest luminaries in the firmament of science; by the lat- 
ter, evincing a spirit animated and directed by Christian 
love, he takes his place as one of the Church of God. 

Now the first public act of our Redeemer's life is to go 
with His disciples to a marriage. He consecrates marriage, 
and the sympathies which lead to marriage. He declares 
the sacredness of feelings which had been reckoned carnal, 
and low, and human. He stamped His image on human 
joys, human connections, human relationships. He pro- 



mcim. 199 

lumiiees thai ihej are more than hnmaii — a» it were aaois^ 
menial: tbe mesum wberebjr God's preeieiiee eomes to i»; 
the tjrpe» and riiadofrii wberebjr higher and deeper rdation- 
sbips become pomhle to n«. For it is tbroogfa oar hnman 
aflfeetions that tbe Mml fir^ learns to feel diat its de$simj is 
dirine; it i^ tbroo^b a mortal yearnings nnsatii^ed, tbai the 
spirit aseends, seeung a higher ol^eei; it is tbroogfa the 
gtisb of onr bnman tenderness tbat tbe immortal md the 
infinite in ni!r rereals itself. Kerer does a man know tiie 
fo" *-zt is in bim till some migbtj affeetion or grief has 
h. /';d tbe donL It is by an earthly relationship that 

God has tjpified to n«) and helped ns to eoneeire the onlj 
tme espousal^ — tbe marriage of the sool to her eternal 
Lord. 

AoAiy, it wa.% H'lh glor;/ to declare the -a/^-re'Ine^H of all 
natural enjoymenU. 

It wa% not a marriage onlj, bat a marriage-Z^^i^, to 
which Cbriift eondneted His diseiples. Xow we eannot get 
OTer this plain £au!rt by saying that it was a religions eere- 
mony: that wonld be mere sophistry. It was za indnl- 
genee in the fe^irity of life; 2l» plainly as words ean de- 
scribe, here wa^ a banqnet of human enjoyment. The rery 
language of the master of the feast about men wbo had 
well drank telk u^ that there had been^ not ezeess, of eonrse, 
but happiness Uiere and merry-making. 

Neither can we explain away the lesscm by saying that 
it is no example to us, for Christ was there to do good^ znd 
that what was safe for Him might be unsafe for us. For if 
His life h no pattern for us here in this ease of aer - an 

iniritation, in what ean we be sure it ts a patt:... . Be- 
sides. He took His disciples there, and Win mother was there: 
they were not shielded as he was, by immaculate purity. 
He wa^ there as a guest at first, as Messiah only afterward: 
thereby He declared the s^aeredness of natural enjoyments. 

Here again, then. Chriift manifested Hi* peculiar glory. 
Tbe Temptation of tbe Wilderness was past; the baptism 
of John and the life of abstinence to which it introduced 
were over; and now the Bridegroom comes before the world 
in the trae glory of Messiah, — not in the life of aseetidsm, 
but in tbe life of godliness; not separating from life, bat 



200 robertso:n^'s livi]Sg thotuhts. 

consecrating it, carrying a divine spirit into every simplest 
act, — accepting an invitation to a feast, giving to water the 
virtue of a nobler beveraofe. For Christianitv does not de- 
stroy what is natural, but ennobles it. To turn water into 
wine, and what is common into what is holy, is indeed the 
glory of Christianity. 

It should be specially observed here, that thai life which 
has been given to us as a specimen of life for all, was a 
social, a human life. Christ did not refuse to mix with the 
common joys and common sorrows of humanity. He was 
present at the marriage-feast, and by the bier of the 
widow's son. This, of the two lives, was the one which, 
because it was the most human, was the most divine: the 
most rare, the most difficult, the most natural, — therefore 
the most Christ-like. 

AxD such are the really fatal men in the work of life, — 
those who look out on human life from a cloister, or who 
know nothing of men except through books. Religious 
persons dread worldliness. They will not mix in politics; 
they keep aloof from life. Doubtless there is a danger in 
knowing too much of the world; but, beyond all compari- 
son, of the two extremes the worst is knowing too little of 
life. A priesthood severed from human sympathies, sepa- 
rated from men, cut off from human affections, and then 
meddling fatally with questions of human life, — that is the 
Romish priesthood. 

SOLITUDE. 

It is a fearful, solitary feeling, that lonely truth of life; 
yet not without a certain strength and grandeur in it. The 
life that is the deepest and the truest will feel most vividly 
both its desolation and its majesty. We live and die alone. 
God and our own souls, — we fall back upon them at last. 
" Behold, the hour cometh, yea, is now come, that ye shall be 
scattered, every man to his own, and shall leave Me alone; 
and yet I am not alone, because the Father is with Me." 

It is a solemn thing, doubtless, to be apart from men, 
and to feel eternity rushing by like an arrowy river. But 



SOLITUDE. 201 

the solitude of Christ was the solitude of a crowd. In that 
single Human bosom dwelt the Thought which was to be 
the germ of the world's life, — a thought unshared, misunder- 
stood, or rejected. Can you not feel the grandeur of those 
words, when the Man, reposing on His solitary strength, 
felt the last shadow of perfect isolation pass across His soul: 
" My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me? " 

There are two kinds of solitude, the first consisting of 
insulation in space, the other of isolation of the spirit. The 
first is simply separation by distance. When we are seen, 
touched, heard by none, we are said to be alone. And all 
hearts respond to the truth of that saying. This is not soli- 
tude ; for sympathy can people our solitude with a crowd. 
The fisherman on the ocean alone at night is not alone 
when he remembers the earnest longings which are arising 
up to heaven at home for his safety. The traveler is not 
alone when the faces which will greet him on his arrival 
seem to beam upon him as he trudges on. The solitary 
student is not alone when he feels that human hearts will 
respond to the truths which he is preparing to address to 
them. 

The other is loneliness of soul. There are times when 
hands touch ours, but only send an icy chill of unsym- 
pathizing indiiference to the heart; when eyes gaze into 
ours, but with a glazed look which cannot read into the 
bottom of our souls; when words pass from our lips, but 
only come back as an echo reverberated without reply 
through a dreary solitude; when the multitude throng and 
press us, and we cannot say, as Christ said, " Somebody 
hath touched me:" for the contact has been not between 
soul and soul, but only between form and form. 

The Redeemer's soul was alone in dying. The hour had 
come, they were all gone, and He was, as He predicted, 
left alone. All that is human drops from us in that hour. 
Human faces flit and fade, and the sounds of the world 
become confused. " I shall die alone" — yes, and alone you 
live. The philosopher tells us that no atom in creation 
touches another atom — they only approach within a certain 
distance; then the attraction ceases, and an invisible some- 



202 ROBERTSON'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

thing repels, — they only seem to touch. No soul touches 
another soul except at one or two points, and those chiefly 
external, — a fearful and a lonely thought. 

SORROW. 

It is not hardships that are the wearing work of life. 
It is anxiety of heart and mind; it is the fretting, carking 
cares of deep solicitude. One sorrow, one deep, corroding 
anxiet}', will wear deeper furrows in a cheek and brow than 
ten campaigns can do. One day's suspense will exhaust 
more, and leave the cheek paler, than a week's fasting. 

The deep undertone of this world is sadness, — a solemn 
bass occurring at measured intervals, and heard through 
all other tones. Ultimately all the strains of this w^orld's 
music resolve themselves into that tone; and I believe that, 
rightly felt, the Cross, and the Cross alone, interprets the 
mournful mystery of life — the sorrow of the Highest, the 
Lord of life; the result of error and sin, but ultimately 
remedial, purifying, and exalting. 

There is an anxiety about loss, about the consequences 
of misdoing, about a ruined reputation, about a narrowed 
sphere of action. Now sin brings all these things; but to 
sorrow for them is not to sorrow before God. To sorrow 
for such things is only a worldly grief, because it is only 
about worldly things. Observe, therefore, that pain, simply 
as pain, does no good; that sorrow, merely as sorrow, has 
in it no magical efficacy. Shame may harden into effrontery, 
punishment may rouse into defiance. Again, pain, self- 
inflicted, does no good. It is a great error when men, per- 
ceiving that God's natural penalties and hardships strengthen 
and purify the spirit, think to attain to a similar good by 
forcing such penalties and hardships upon themselves. 

This is the blessedness of the suffering of Christ; it is 
the law of the Cross; it is the vicarious principle pervading 
life, that, voluntarily or involuntarily, we must suffer for 
others. If others are beneflted involuntarily by our suffer- 
ings, then we do no more than the beasts who fulfill the 



SORROW. 203 

law of their being unconsciously; who yield up their lives 
unwillingly, and therefore are not blessed by it. But if we 
are willing to bear our woe because we know that good will 
accrue, we know not how, or why, or when, to others, then 
we have indeed become partakers of Christ's Spirit, and 
learned a godlike lesson. To be willing to bear in order to 
teach others! — to lose, in order that others may "through 
us noblier live" — that is to know something of the blessed- 
ness He knew. 

The apostle rejoiced, not that the Corinthians sorrowed, 
but that they sorrowed unto repentance. Sorrow has two 
results: it may end in spiritual life, or in spiritual death; 
and in themselves one of these is as natural as the other. 
Sorrow may produce two kinds of reformation — a tran- 
sient or a permanent one, — an alteration in habits, which, 
originating in emotion, will last so long as that emotion 
continues, and then after a few fruitless efforts be given 
up, — a repentance which will be repented of; or again, a 
permanent change, which will be reversed by no after- 
thought, — a repentance not to be repented of. Sorrow is 
in itself, therefore, a thing neither good nor bad; its value 
depends on the spirit of the person on whom it falls. Fire 
will inflame straw, soften iron, or harden clay; its effects 
are determined by the object with which it comes in con- 
tact. Warmth develops the energies of life, or helps the 
progress of decay. It is a great power in the hothouse, a 
great power also in the coffin. It expands the leaf, matures 
the fruit, adds precocious vigor to vegetable life. And 
warmth, too, develops with tenfold rapidity the weltering 
process of dissolution. So, too, with sorrow. There are 
spirits in which it develops the seminal principle of life; 
there are others in which it prematurely hastens the con- 
summation of irreparable decay. 

Nay, more: the religion which is only sunned into being 
by happiness is a suspicious thing. Having been warmed 
by joy, it will become cold when joy is over; and then when 
these blessings are removed we count ourselves hardly 
treated, as if we had been defrauded of a right; rebellious, 



204 Robertson's livi]S"G thoughts. 

hard feelings come ; then it is you see people become bitter, 
spiteful, discontented. At every step in the solemn path of 
life something must be mourned which will come back no 
more; the temper that was so smooth becomes rugged and 
uneven; the benevolence that expanded upon all narrows 
into an ever-dwindling selfishness. We are alone. 

The loss of those dear to us — relations and friends — 
when it is borne as coming from God, has the effect of 
strengthening and purifying the character. But to bring 
sorrow willfully upon ourselves can be of no avail toward 
improvement. The difference between these two things 
lies in this, that when God inflicts the blow He gives the 
strength; but when you give it to yourself God does not 
promise aid. Be sure this world has enough of the Cross in 
it: you need not go out of your way to seek it. Be sure 
there will always be enough of humiliation, and shame, and 
solitariness for each man to bear if he be living the Christ- 
life. 

As the tree is fertilized by its own broken branches and 
fallen leaves, and grows out by its own decay, so is the soul 
of man ripened out of broken hopes and blighted affections. 
The law of our humanity is the common law of the 
universe, — life out of death, beauty out of decay. Not till 
those fierce young passions, over the decay of which the old 
man grieves, have been stilled into silence; not until the 
eye has lost its fire, and the cheek its hot flush, can " the 
beauty of the Lord our God be upon us '' — the beauty of a 
spirit subdued, chastened, and purified by loss. 

True it is that there are pentecostal hours when the soul 
is surrounded by a kind of glory, and we are tempted to 
make tabernacles upon the mount, as if life were meant for 
rest; but out of that very cloud there comes a voice telling 
of the cross, and bidding us descend into the common world 
again, to simple duties and humble life. This very princi- 
ple seems to be contained in the text. The apostle's remedy 
for this artificial feeling is — "Speaking to one another in 
psalms and hymns and spiritual songs." 



SORROW. 205 

Note here the difference between Adam and Christ. 
Adam's was a state of satisfied happiness, Christ's was one 
of noble aspiration. His was a Divine sorrow: there was a 
secret sadness in the heart of the Son of Man. There is a 
difference between childhood and age, between Christian and 
unchristian motives. Out of contemplations such as these 
we collect a presumption of immortality. 

TnuE sorrow — sorrow to God — softens, not hardens, the 
soul. It opens sympathies, for it teaches what others suffer: 
it gives a deeper power of sympathy and consolation, for 
only through suffering can you win the Godlike ability of 
feeling for others' pain; it expands affection, for your 
sorrow makes you accordant with the " still, sad music *' of 
humanity. A true sorrow is that '' deep grief which human- 
izes the soul." 

Christian men, when sorrow comes speculation will not 
do. It is like casting the lead from mere curiosity when 
you have a sound, strong ship in deep water. But when she 
is grinding on the rocks, — oh, we sound for God when the 
soul is on the rocks! For God becomes a living God, a 
reality, a home, when once we feel that we are helpless and 
homeless in this world without Him. 

The susceptibility of emotion varies with individuals. 
Some men feel intensely, others suffer less keenly; but this 
is constitutional, belonging to nervous temperament rather 
than to moral character. This is the characteristic of the 
Divine sorrow, that it is a repentance "not repented of"; 
no transient, short-lived resolutions, but sustained resolve. 

The right hand and left of Christ in His kingdom are 
given only to those who drink of His cup and are baptized 
with His baptism. 

Inattextiveness of spirit, produced by want of spiritual 
interest, is the first cause of disappointment. 



206 Robertson's liyii^g thoughts. 



SUPERSTITION. 

Superstition is the refuge of a skeptical spirit, which 
has a heart too devout to dare to be skeptical. Men tremble 
at new theories, new views, the spread of infidelity, and they 
think to fortify themselves against these by multiplying the 
sanctities which they reverence. But all this will not do. 
Superstition cannot do the work of faith and give repose or 
peace. It is not by multiplying ceremonies; it is not by 
speaking of holy things with low, bated breath; it is not by 
entrenching the soul behind the infallibility of a church, 
or the infallibility of the words and sentences of a book; it 
is not by shutting out inquiry, and resenting every investi- 
gation as profane, that you can arrest the progress of infi- 
delity. Faith, not superstition, is the remedy. 

There is a. time in the history of every superstition when 
it is respectable, even deserving reverence, when men be- 
lieved it; w4ien it is in fact associated with the highest feel- 
ings that are in man, and the channel even for God's mani- 
festation to the soul. And there is a time when it becomes 
less and less credible, when clearer science is superseding its 
pretensions. 

SUSCEPTIBILITY. 

There is deep knowledge of human nature and exquisite 
fidelity to truth in the single touch by which the impression 
of religion on them is described. The seed sprang up 
quickly, and then withered away as quickly, because it had 
no depth of root. There is a quick, easily- moved suscepti- 
bility that rapidly exhibits the slightest breath of those 
emotions which play upon the surface of the soul, and then 
as rapidly passes off. In such persons w^ords are ever at 
command — voluble and impassioned words. Tears flow 
readily. The expressive features exhibit every passing shade 
of thought. Every thought and every feeling plays upon 
the surface; everything that is sown springs up at once 
with vehement vegetation. But slightness and inconstancy 
go together with violence. " Out of the abundance of the 
heart the mouth speaketh.'' True; but also out of the 



SYMPATHY. 207 

emptiness of the heart the mouth can speak even more 
volubly. He who can always find the word which is appro- 
priate and adequate to his emotions is not the man whose 
emotions are deepest: warmth of feeling is one thing, per- 
manence is another. On Tuesday last, they who went to 
the table most moved and touched were not necessarily 
those w^ho raised in a wise observer's breast the strongest 
hope of persistence in the life of Christ. Rather those who 
were calm and subdued: that which springs up quickly 
often does so merely from this, that it has no depth of earth 
to give it room to strike its roots down and deep. 

God gives visions at His own will, and according to cer- 
tain and fixed laws. He does not inspire every one ; He 
does not reveal His mysteries to men of selfish, or hard, or 
phlegmatic temperaments. He gives preternatural com- 
munications to those whom He prepares beforehand by a 
peculiar spiritual sensitiveness. There are, physically, cer- 
tain sensitivenesses to sound and color that qualify men to 
become gifted musicians and painters; so, spiritually, there 
are certain strong original susceptibilities (I say original 
as derived from God, the origin of all), and on these God 
bestows strange gifts and sights, deep feelings not to be 
uttered in human language, and immeasurable by the or- 
dinary standard. 

SYMPATHY. 

Think you He cannot sympathize with our worst sorrows 
who shielded from scorn the broken-hearted who could only 
smite upon his breast; who 'stood like a God between their 
victim and the hell-hounds who were baying for their prey, 
till they cowered at His feet and slunk away; who could 
forgive a coward, and select the alien and heretic as a type of 
the neighbor who is to be loved; w^ho was peculiarly sensitive 
to the charm of woman's society and its soothing gentleness; 
who wept for temporary grief; who was considerate for the 
tired disciples and the hungry multitude; whose chosen home 
was the house of the publican and sinner; who bore con- 
tempt with majestic dignity — is that a trifle? — who felt 
keenly, as His own touching words witness, the pain of 



208 kobektson's living thoughts. 

homelessness? Oh, can you say that He could not enter 
into our worst sorrows, or that His trials were in " show"! 
Comprehend that heart, containing all that was manliest 
and all that was most womanly. Think what you will, but 
do not mistake Him, or else you will lose the one great cer- 
tainty to which, in the midst of the darkest doubt, I never 
ceased to cling — the entire symmetry and loveliness and 
the unequaled nobleness of the humanity of the Son of 
Man. Ask me any question you will on this, for if there 
has been a subject I have pondered over and believed in, 
it is the mind and heart of Jesus. Do not go to that absurd 
nonsense of mysterious suffering that cannot be compre- 
hended, — something neither of earth nor heaven, neither 
the affection of the man nor the God, — a mystery, and so 
forth, of which the Bible says nothing. Mysterious enough 
they were, as the sufferings of the deepest hearts ever must 
be, but mysterious only in this sense. Alas! they are intel- 
ligible enough to any one who has ever conceived sublime 
mission with a warm heart, and felt courage and tenderness 
fail in the idea of executing it; intelligible enough for any 
one who knows w4iat it is fo be wrung to the heart by the 
sorrows and faults of others. All that is unintelligible is 
the degree of agony. To understand that, we must first be 
like Him, — as noble, and as loving, and as spotless. 

Eead the Sermon on the Mount. It tells of a purity as 
of snow resting on an Alpine pinnacle, white in the blue 
holiness of heaven ; and yet also. He, the All-pure, had ten- 
derness for what w^as not pure. He who. stood in Divine 
uprightness that never faltered, felt compassion for the 
ruined, and infinite gentleness for human fall. Broken, 
disappointed, doubting hearts, in dismay and bewilderment, 
never looked in vain to Him. Very strange, if we stop to 
think of it, instead of repeating it as a matter of course. 
For generally human goodness repels from it evil men: they 
shun the society and presence of men reputed good, as owls 
fly from light. But here was purity attractijig evil; that 
was the wonder. Harlots and wretches steeped in infamy 
gathered around Him. No wonder the purblind Pharisees 
thought there must be something in Him like such sinners 
which drew them so. Like draws to like: if He chose their 



SYMPATHY. 209 

society before that of the Pharisee, was it not because of 
some congeniality in evil? But they did crowd His steps, 
and that because they saw a hope opened out in a hopeless 
world for fallen spirits and broken hearts, — ay, and seared 
hearts. The Son of Man was forever standing among the 
lost, and His ever predominant feelings were sadness for the 
evil in human nature, hope for the Divine good in it, and 
the Divine image never worn out wholly. 

I DO feel that sympathy from man, in sorrow such as 
yours, is almost mockery. None can feel it, and certainly 
none can soothe it, except the Man Christ Jesus, whose in- 
finite bosom echoes back every throb of yours. To my own 
heart, that marvelous fact of God enduing Himself with a 
human soul of sympathy is the most precious, and the one I 
least could afford to part with of all the invigorating doc- 
trines which everlasting truth contains. *That Christ feels 
now what we feel — our risen, ascended Lord — and that 
He can impart to us, in our fearful wrestlings, all the 
blessedness of His sympathy, is a truth which, to my soul, 
stands almost without a second. I do pray that, in all its 
fullness, this may be yours — a truth to rest and live upon. 

Christianity does not sear the human heart; it softens 
it. They who forbid grief should, to be consistent, go 
further and forbid affection, for grief is only a state of the 
affections. If joy be felt in the presence of the loved object, 
grief must be felt in its absence. Christianity destroys sel- 
fishness, makes a man quick and sensitive for others, and 
alive to every call of aff'ection. Moreover, dealing with in- 
finite things, it imparts something of its own infinitude to 
every feeling. A Christian is a man whose heart is ex- 
quisitely attuned to all utterances of grief. Shall he not 
feel or mourn? His Master wept over the grave of friend- 
ship. Tears of patriotism fell from His eyes. There is no 
unmanliness in shedding tears ; it is not unchristian to 
yield to deep feeling. We may admire the stern old Roman 
heart, but we must not forget that the Roman stoicism 
is not of the spirit of Christianity, for Christianity says 
" Weep." 



210 ROBERTSO]N"'S LIVII^G THOUGHTS. 

The great thing which Christ did was to call men back 
to simplicity and nature, — not to perverted, but original 
nature. *He counted it no derogation of His manhood to be 
seen to weep; He thought it no shame to mingle with merry 
crowds; He opened His heart wide to all the genial and 
all the mournful impressions of this manifold life of ours. 
And this is what we have to do, be natural. Let God, — that 
is, let the influences of God, — freely play unthwarted upon 
the soul. Let there be no unnatural repression, no control 
of feeling, by mere effort. Let there be no artificial and 
prolonged grief, no "minstrels making a noise." Let great 
Nature have her way; or, rather, feel that you are in a 
Father's world, and live in it with Him, frankly, in a free, 
fearless, childlike, and natural spirit. Then grief will do 
its work healthily. The heart will bleed, and stanch when 
it has bled enough. Do not stop the bleeding; but, also, do 
not open the wound afresh. 

The Divine part was done in sympathy. By sympathy 
we commonly mean little more than condolence. If the 
tear start readily at the voice of grief, and the purse-strings 
open at the accents of distress, we talk of a man's having 
great sympathy. To weep with those who weep: — com- 
mon sympathy does not mean much more. 

It is in this entire and perfect sympathy with all hu- 
manity that the heart of Jesus differs from every other heart 
that is found among the sons of men. And it is this, oh, 
it is this, which is the chief blessedness of having such a 
Saviour. If you are poor you can only get a miserable 
s\^mpathy from the rich; with the best intentions they can- 
not understand you. Their sympathy is awkward. If you 
are in pain, it is only a factitious and constrained sympathy 
you get from those in health — feelings forced, adopted 
kindly, but imperfect still. They sit beside you, when the 
regular condolence is done, conversing on topics with each 
other that jar upon the ear. TJiey sympathize? Miserable 
comforters are they all. If you are miserable, and tell out 
your grief, you have the shame of feeling that you were not 
understood, and that you have bared your inner self to a 
rude gaze. If you are in doubt, you cannot tell your 



SYMPATHY. 211 

doubts to religious people; no, not even to the ministers of 
Christ, — for they have no place for doubts in their largest 
system. They ask. What right have you to doubt? They 
suspect your character. They shake the head, and whisper 
it about gravely that you read strange books, that you are 
verging on infidelity. If you are depressed with guilt, to 
whom shall you tell out vour tale of shame? The confes- 
sional, with its innumerable evils, and yet indisputably 
soothing power, is passed away, and there is nothing to 
supply its place. You cannot speak to your brother man, 
for you injure him by doing so, or else weaken yourself. 
You cannot tell it to society, for society judges in the gross, 
by general rules, and cannot take into account the delicate 
differences of transgression. It banishes the frail penitent, 
and does homage to the daring, hard transgressor. 

There is another class of men who live in sympathy. 
These are affectionate minds which tremble at the thoucrht 
of beingf alone. Not from want of couras^e nor from weak- 
ness of intellect comes their dependence upon others, but 
from the intensity of their affections. It is the trembling 
spirit of humanity in them. They want not aid, nor even 
countenance, but only sympathy. And the trial comes to 
them not in the shape of fierce struggle, but of chill and 
utter loneliness, when they are called upon to perform a 
duty on which the world looks coldly, or to embrace a truth 
which has not found lodgment yet in the breasts of others. 

Power is shown by God's attention to the vast; sympa- 
thy, by His condescension to the small. It is not the thought 
of heaven's sympathy by which we are impressed w^ien we 
gaze through the telescope on the mighty world of space, 
and gain an idea of what is meant by infinite. Majesty and 
power are there, but the very vastness excludes the 
thought of sympathy. It is when we look into the world of 
insignificance, which the microscope reveals, and find that 
God has gorgeously painted the atoms of creation, and ex- 
quisitely furnished forth all that belongs to minutest life, 
that we feel that God sympathizes and individualizes. When 
we are told that God is the Redeemer of the ivorld, we know 
that love dwells in the bosom of the Most High; but if we 



212 ROBERTSOISr's LIVING THOUGHTS. 

want to know that God feels for us individually and 
separately, we must learn by heart this syllable of endear- 
ment, '^Mij Redeemer." Child of God! if you would have 
your thought of God something beyond a cold feeling of His 
presence, let faith appropriate Christ. You are as much 
the object of God's solicitude as if none lived but yourself. 
He has counted the hairs of your head. 

When the electric touch of sympathetic feeling has gone 
among a mass of men it communicates itself, and is re- 
flected back from every individual in the crowd with a 
force exactly proportioned to their numbers. The speech or 
sermon read before the limited circle of a family, and the 
same discourse uttered before closely crowded hundreds, are 
two different things. There is strange power even in the 
mere presence of a common crowd, exciting almost uncon- 
trollable emotion. 

We know what a relief it is to see the honest, affectionate 
face of a menial servant, or some poor dependent, regretting 
that your suffering may be infinitely above his comprehen- 
sion. It may be a secret which 3^ou cannot impart to him, 
or it may be a mental distress which his mind is too un- 
educated to appreciate; yet still his sympathy in your dark 
hour is worth a world. What you suffer he knows not, but 
he knows you do suffer, and it pains him to think of it: 
there is balm to you in that. This is the power of sym- 
pathy. 

Sympathy is needful in order rightly to understand the 
higher feelings. There are cold, intellectual men, afraid of 
enthusiasm, who frown on and forbid every manifestation 
of feeling. They will talk of the elocution of Isaiah or the 
logic of St. Paul, and they think to fathom the meaning of 
Scripture by grammatical criticism; whereas only the 
Spirit can interpret the Spirit. You must get into the same 
region of feeling in which prophets breathe, and then only 
can you understand them. 

Observe how he is touched by our infirmities — with a 
separate, special, discriminating love. There is not a single 



TEMPTATION. 213 

throb, in a single human bosom, that does not thrill at once 
with more than electric speed up to the mighty heart of 
God. You have not shed a tear or sighed a sigh that did 
not come back to you exalted and purified by having passed 
through the Eternal bosom. 

The deep humanity of the soul of Christ was gifted with 
those finer sensibilities of affectionate nature which stand in 
need of sympathy. He not only gave sympathy, but wanted 
it, too, from others. He who selected the gentle John to be 
his friend, — who found solace in female sympathy, attended 
by the women who ministered to him out of their sub- 
stance, — who in the trial-hour could not bear even to pray 
without the human presence, which is the pledge and re- 
minder of God's presence, — had nothing in Him of the hard, 
merely self-dependent character. 

Here, too, we find the Son of Man the pattern of our 
humanity. His bosom was to mankind what the ocean is to 
the world: the ocean has its own mightj^ tide, but it re- 
ceives and responds to, in exact proportion, the tidal influ- 
ences of every estuary, and river, and small creek, which 
pours into its bosom. So it was in Christ: His bosom 
heaved with the tides of our humanity, but every separate 
sorrow, pain and joy gave its pulsation. 

By Divine sj^mpathy, and by the Divine Image exhibited 
in the speaking act of Christ, the lost was sought and saved. 

TEMPTATION. 

It was through temptation that the first Adam fell from 
a state of nature; it was through temptation, too, that the 
second Adam redeemed humanity into a state of grace. To 
the first Adam this world was as a garden is to a child, in 
which he has nothing to do but to taste and enjoy. Duty 
came with its infinite demands: it came into collision with 
the finite appetites, and he fell. The first state is simply 
that of untempted innocence. In the temptation of the 
second Adam infinite duty consecrated certain principles of 
action without reference to the consequences. 



214 kobertson's living thoughts. 

Brethren, in this world, when there is any foreseen or 
suspected danger before us, it is our duty to forecast our 
trial. It is our wisdom to put on our armor — to consider 
what lies before us — to call up resolution in God's strength 
to go through what we may have to do. And it is marvel- 
ous how difficulties smooth away before a Christian when 
he does this. Trials that cost him a struggle to meet even 
in imagination — like the heavy sweat of Gethsemane, when 
Christ was looking forward and feeling exceeding sorrowful 
even unto death — come to their crisis; and behold, to his 
astonishment, the}^ are nothing, — the}^ have been fought 
and conquered already. But if you go to meet those temp- 
tations, not as Christ did, but as the apostles did, prayer- 
less, trusting to the chance impulse of the moment, you may 
make up your mind to fail. That opportunity lost is irrep- 
arable: it is your doom to yield then. Those words are 
true, you may " sleep on now and take your rest," for you 
have betrayed yourselves into the hands of danger. 

He who has never been tried, and he who, having been 
tempted, has fallen under temptation. The young, un- 
tempted, and upright, are often severe judges. They are 
for sanguinary punishment; they are for expelling offenders 
from the bosom of society. The old, on the contrary, who 
have fallen much, are lenient; but it is a leniency which 
often talks thus: Men must be men; a young man must sow 
his wild oats and reform. 

Each man's temptations are made up of a host of pecu- 
liarities, internal and external, which no other mind can 
measure. You are tried alone: alone you pass into the 
desert — alone you must bear and conquer in the agony — 
alone you must be sifted by the world. There are moments 
known only to man's own self, when he sits by the poisoned 
springs of existence " yearning for a morrow which shall 
free him from the strife." And there are trials more terri- 
ble than that. Not when vicious inclinations are opposed 
to holy, but when virtue conflicts with virtue, is the real 
rending of the soul in twain. A temptation in which the 
lower nature struggles for mastery can be met b}^ the whole 
united force of the spirit. But it is when obedience to a 



temptatio:n-. 215 

heavenly Father can be only paid by disobedience to an 
earthly one; or fidelity to duty can be only kept by infidelity 
to some entangling engagement; or the straight path must 
be taken over the misery of others; or the counsel of the 
affectionate friend must be met with a " Get thee behind me, 
Satan"; — oh, it is then, when human advice is unavailable, 
that the soul feels what it is to be alone. 

He can be touched now, because He was tempted then. 
The incidents and the feelings of that part of the existence 
which is gone have not passed away without results which 
are deeply entwined with His present being. His past ex- 
perience has left certain effects durable in His nature as it 
is now. It has endued Him with certain qualifications and 
certain susceptibilities, which He would not have had but 
for that experience. Just as the results remained upon His 
body, the prints of the nails in His palms, and the spear- 
gash in His side, so do the results remain upon His soul, 
enduing Him with a certain susceptibility, for He can be 
touched with the feeling of our infirmities : with certain 
qualifications, for He is able to show mercy, and to impart 
grace to help in time of need. 

There are times when the truest courage is shown in 
retreating from a temptation. There are times when, not 
being on a level with other men in qualifications of temper, 
mind, character, we must compensate by inventions and 
Christian expedients. You must climb over the crowd of 
difficulties which stand between your soul and Christ — you 
must "run before" and forecast trials, and get into the 
sycamore solitude. Without a living life like this you will 
never get a glimpse of the King in His beauty: you will 
never see it. You will be just on the point of seeing Him, 
and shut out by some unexpected hindrance. 

He who would sympathize must be content to be tried 
and tempted. There is a hard and boisterous rudeness in 
our hearts by nature which requires to be softened down. 
We pass by suffering gayly, carelessly, not in cruelty, but 
unfeelingly, just because we do not know what suffering is. 
We wound men by our looks and our abrupt expressions 



216 ROBERTSO:t^'S LIYIN-G THOUGHTS. 

without intending it, because we have not been taught the 
delicacy, and the tact, and the gentleness, which can only be 
learned by the wounding of our own sensibilities. There is 
a haughty feeling in uprightness, which has never been on 
the verge of fall, that requires humbling. There is an in- 
ability to enter into difficulties of thought which marks the 
mind to which all things have been presented superficially, 
and which has never experienced the horror of feeling the 
ice of doubt crashing beneath the feet. 

TIME. 

The thought of Time is solemn and awful to all minds 
in proportion to their dejoth, and in proportion as the mind 
is superficial the thought has appeared little, and has been 
treated with levity. Brethren, let but a man possess him- 
self of that thought — the deep thought of the brevity of 
Time; this thought — that time is short, and that eternity 
is long — and he has learned the first great secret of un- 
worldliness. 

Time is the solemn inheritance to which every man is 
born heir who has a life-rent of this world — a little section 
cut out of eternity and given us to do our work in; an 
eternity before, an eternity behind; and the small stream 
between, flowing swiftly from one into the vast bosom of 
the other. The man who has felt with all his soul the sig- 
nificance of Time will not be long in learning any lesson 
that this world has to teach him. Have you ever felt it, my 
Christian brethren? Have you ever realized how your own 
little streamlet is gliding away, and bearing you along with 
it toward that awful other world of which all things here 
are but the thin shadows, down into that eternity toward 
which the confused wreck of all earthly things are bound? 
Let us realize that, beloved brethren; until that sensation 
of Time, and the infinite meaning which is wrapped up in 
it, has taken possession of our souls, there is no chance 
of our ever feeling other than that it is worse than madness 
to sleep that time away. Every day in this world has its 
work; and every day as it rises out of eternity keeps putting 
to each of us the question afresh, What will you do before 



TIME. 217 

to-day has sunk into eternity and nothingness again. And 
now what have we to say with respect to this strange, 
solemn thing — Time? That men do with it through life 
just what the apostles did for one precious and irreparable 
hour in the garden of Gethsemane, — they go to sleep. Have 
you ever seen those marble statues in some public square or 
garden, which art has so fashioned into a perennial fountain 
that through the lips or through the hands the clear water 
flows in a perpetual stream, on and on forever; and the 
marble stands there, passive, cold, making no effort to 
arrest the gliding water? 

It is so that Time flow^s through the hands of men — 
swift, never pausing till it has run itself out; and there is 
the man petrified into a marble sleep, not feeling what it is 
which is passing away forever. It is so, brethren, just so, 
that the destiny of nine men out of ten accomplishes itself, 
slipping away from them, aimless, useless, till it is too late. 
And this passage asks us, with all the solemn thoughts 
which crowd around an approaching eternity, what has 
been our life, and what do we intend it shall be? Yes- 
terday, last week, last year, — they are gone. Yester- 
day, for example, was such a da}^ as never was before, and 
never can be again. Out of darkness and eternity it was 
born a new, fresh day: into darkness and eternity it sank 
again forever. It had a voice calling to us of its own: its 
own work — its own duties. What were we doing yester- 
day? Idling, whiling away the time in light and luxurious 
literature — not as life's relaxation, but as life's business? 
thrilling our hearts with the excitements of life — contriv- 
ing how to spend the day most pleasantly? Was that our 
day? Sleep, brethren! all that is but the sleep of the three 
apostles. And now let us remember this: there is a day 
coming when that sleep will be broken rudely with a shock : 
there is a day in our future lives when our time will be 
counted, not by years nor by months, nor yet by hours, but 
by minutes, — the day when unmistakable symptoms shall 
announce that the Messengers of Death have come to take us. 
10 



218 ROBERTSON'S LIVIl^G THOUGHTS. 



TONGUE. 

You may tame the wild beast; the conflagration of the 
American forest will cease when all the timber and the dry 
underwood is consumed; but you cannot arrest the progress 
of that cruel word which you uttered carelessly yesterday 
or this morning — which you will utter, perhaps, before you 
have passed from this church one hundred yards: that will 
go on slaying, poisoning, burning beyond your own control,, 
now and forever. 

You cannot arrest a calumnious tongue; you can- 
not arrest the calumny itself; you may refute a slan- 
derer, you may trace home a slander to its source, you 
may expose the author of it, you may by that exposure give 
a lesson so severe as to make the repetition of the offense 
appear impossible; but the fatal habit is incorrigible; to- 
morrow the tongue is at work again. 

TRIALS. 

Every man has his thorn. It is wondrously instruct- 
ive, as we pass through the crowded town, to see each face, 
except the very young, careworn, and having lines of suffer- 
ing; and we are tempted to ask. Where are the happy ones? 
We may know a man, be intimately acquainted with him, 
and think his trials cannot be many, his domestic circle is 
peaceful, his burdens must be light; but do we not now and 
then catch a sudden start of anguish passing across his 
brow, the causes of which are known only to God and him- 
self? Well, he too has his thorn, and it is secret. 

The morning rainbow, glittering among the dangerous 
Vapors of the west, predicts that the day will not unclouded 
pass away. The evening rainbow declares that the storms 
are past, and that serene weather is setting in. Such is the 
life of all whom God disciplines. The morning or the even- 
ing brightness is the portion of a life, the rest of which is 
storm. 



TRIALS. 219 

The common idea of Love being that which identifies it 
with a simple wish to confer happiness, no wonder that a 
feeble attempt is made to vindicate God by a reduction of 
the apparent amount of pain. Unquestionably, however, 
love is very different from a desire to shield from pain. 
Eternal Love gives to painlessness a very subordinate place 
in comparison of excellence of character. It does not hesi- 
tate to secure man's spiritual dignity at the expense of the 
sacrifice of his well-being. The solution will not do. Let 
us look the truth in the face, — you cannot hide it from 
yourself: " Man is born to sorrow, as the sparks fly up- 
ward." Sorrow is not an accident, occurring now and then: 
it is the very woof which is woven into the warp of life. 
God has created the nerves to agonize, and the heart to 
bleed; and before a man dies almost every nerve has 
thrilled with p^n, and every affection has been wounded. 
The account of life which represents it as probation is in- 
adequate: so is that which regards it chiefly as a system of 
rewards and punishments. The truest account of this mys- 
terious existence seems to be that it is intended for the de- 
velopment of the soul's life, for which sorrow is indispen- 
sable. Every son of man who would attain the true end of 
his being must be baptized with fire. It is the law of our 
humanity, as that of Christ, that we must be perfected 
through suffering ; and he who has not discerned the Divine 
Sacredness of Sorrow, and the profound meaning which is 
concealed in pain, has yet to learn what life is. The Cross, 
manifested as the Necessity of the Highest Life, alone inter- 
prets it. 

The Christian's aim is victory, not freedom from attack; 
and a soldier cannot learn to fight by pondering over maps 
and plans of campaigns in his barrack-room. It must be 
on the field of blood, and in the lonely bivouac. Without 
real trial, how soon we find rust upon our arms and sloth 
upon our souls, and the paltry difficulties of common life 
weigh like chains upon us, instead of being brushed away 
like cobwebs. 

When all is well, when friends abound, and health is 
strong, and the comforts of life are around us, religion be- 



220 KOBERTSOl^'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

comes faint and shadowy. Eeligious phraseology passes into 
cant; the gay, and light, and trifling, use the same words 
as the holiest; till the earnest man, who feels what the 
world is sentimentalizing about, shuts up his heart, and 
either coins other phrases or else keeps silence. And then 
it is that if God would rescue a man from that unreal world 
of names and mere knowledge. He does what he did with 
Job, He strips him of His flocks, and his herds, and his 
wealth; or else, what is the equivalent, of the power of 
enjoying them, — the desire of his eyes falls from him at a 
stroke. Thingrs become real then. Trial brinofs man face 
to face with God, — God and he touch, and the flimsy veil of 
bright cloud that hung between him and the sky is blown 
away: he feels that he is standing outside the earth, with 
nothing between him and the Eternal Infinite. Oh ! there 
is something in the sick-bed, and the aching heart, and the 
restlessness and the languor of shattered health, and the 
sorrow of affections withered, and the stream of life poi- 
soned at its fountain, and the cold, lonely feeling of utter 
rawness of heart which is felt when God strikes home in 
earnest, that forces a man to feel what is real and what is 
not. 

We are not aware of the possession of a heart till some 
disease, some sudden joy or sorrow, rouses it into extraor- 
dinary action. And we are not conscious of the mighty 
cravings of our half-divine humanity, we are not aware of 
the God within us, till some chasm yawns which must be 
filled, or till the rending asunder of our affections forces 
us to become fearfully conscious of a need. 

There are others to whom it is all a trial, — a whole world 
of passions keep up strife within. The name of the spirit 
which possesses them is Legion. It is a hard fight from 
the cradle to the grave — up-hill work — toil all the way; 
and at the last it seems as if they had only just kept their 
ground. 

It is a painful thing, that weeding work. *' Every branch 
in me that beareth fruit He purgeth it, that it may bring 
forth more fruit." The keen edge of God's pruning-knife 



TRIALS. 221 

cuts sheer through. No weak tenderness stops Him whose 
love seeks Goodness, not Comfort, for His servants. A 
man's distractions are in his wealth — and perhaps fire or 
failure make him bankrupt: what he feels is God's sharp 
knife. Pleasure has dissipated his heart, and a stricken 
frame forbids his enjoying pleasure: shattered nerves and 
broken health wear out the life of Life. Or perhaps it 
comes in a sharper, sadder form: the shaft of death goes 
home — there is heard the wail of danger in his household. 
And then, when sickness has passed on to hopelessness, and 
hopelessness has passed on to death, the crushed man goes 
into the chamber of the dead; and there, when he shuts 
down the lid upon the coffin of his wife, or the coffin of his 
child, his heart begins to tell him the meaning of all this. 
Thorns had been growing in his heart, and the sharp knife 
has been at work making room, — but by an awful desola- 
tion, — tearing up and cutting down, that the Life of God 
in the soul may not be choked. 

Misery is a trial, but it makes this world undesirable; 
and persecution estranges a man from resting on earthly 
friends, and forces him to choose One whom he would never 
have chosen if any other had offered; but prosperity makes 
earth a home, and popularity exalts self and invites com- 
pliance to the world. It is the old story of one winter in 
Capua effecting a ruin for Hannibal, which neither the snow 
of the Alps nor the sun of Italy, the treachery of the Gauls 
nor the prowess of the Romans, could achieve. 

His ways are indeed wonderful, — how wonderful eternity 
alone can show, where we shall see the connection of what 
we are pleased to call trivial events, with His most stupen- 
dous schemes, and all that is dark and difficult and melan- 
choly in this unintelligible world, — all that gives our pre- 
sumptuous reasoning hard thoughts of God, all that has 
grieved and disappointed and misanthropized, — will be fully 
explained and merged in one unclouded blaze of glory. The 
time may be much nearer than we expect. 

Every ache and pain, every wrinkle you see stamping 
itself on a parent's brow, every accident which reveals the 



222 110BERTS0N''S LIVIKG THOUGHTS. 

uncertain tenure of life and possessions, every funeral-bell 
that tolls, are only God's reminders that we are tenants at 
will and not by right — pensioners on the bounty of an hour. 

TRINITY. 

There are those who incline to sneer at the Trinitarian ; 
those to whom the doctrine appears merely a contradiction, a 
puzzle, an entangled, labyrinthine enigma, in which there 
is no meaning whatever. But let all such remember that 
though the doctrine may appear to them absurd, because 
they have not the proper conception of it, some of the pro- 
foundest thinkers, and some of the holiest spirits among man- 
kind, have believed in this doctrine — have clung to it as a 
matter of life or death. Let them be assured of this, that 
whether the doctrine be true or false, it is not necessarily a 
doctrine self-contradictory. Let them be assured of this, in 
all modesty, that such men never could have held it unless 
there was latent in the doctrine a deep truth, perchance 
the truth of God. 

We will take any material substance: we find in that 
substance qualities ; we will say three qualities — color, 
shape, and size. Color is not shape, shape is not size, size is 
not color. There are three distinct essences, three dis- 
tinct qualities, and yet they all form one unity, one single 
conception, ®ne idea — the idea, for example, of a tree. 

Now we will ascend from that into the immaterial world; 
and here we come to something more distinct still. Hither- 
to we have had but three qualities; we now come to the 
mind of man, — where we find something more than quali- 
ties. We will take three — the will, the affections, and the 
thoughts of man. His will is not his affections, neither are 
his affections his thoughts; and it would be imperfect and 
incomplete to say that these are mere qualities in the man. 
They are separate consciousnesses, living consciousnesses, 
as distinct and as really sundered as it is possible for three 
things to be, yet bound together by one unity of conscious- 
ness. Now we have distincter proof than even this that 
these things are three. The anatomist can tell you that the 
localities of these powers are different. He can point out 



TRUTH. 223 

the seat of the nerve of sensation; he can localize the feel- 
ing of affection; he can point to a nerve and say, '* There 
resides the locality of thought." 

There are three distinct localities for three distinct qauli- 
ties, personalities, consciousnesses; yet all these three are 
one. 

Once more: we will give proof even beyond all that. 
The act that a man does is done by one particular part of 
that man. You may say it was a work of his genius, or 
of his fancy; it may have been a manifestation of his love, 
or an exhibition of his courage; yet that work was the work 
of the whole man: his courage, his intellect, his habits of 
perseverance, all helped toward the completion of that sin- 
gle work. Just in this way certain special works are at- 
tributed to certain personalities of the Deity; the work of 
redemption being attributed to one, the work of sanctifica- 
tion to another. And yet just as the whole man was en- 
gaged in doing that work, so does the whole Deity perform 
that work which is attributed to one essential. 

TRUTH. 

Cultivate the love of truth. I do not mean veracity: 
that is another thing. Veracity is the correspondence be- 
tween a proposition and a man's belief. Truth is the corre- 
spondence of the proposition with fact. The love of truth 
is the love of realities, — the determination to rest upon facts, 
and not on semblances. Take an illustration of the way in 
which the habit of cultivating truth is got. Two boys see 
a misshapen, hideous object in the dark. One goes up to the 
cause of his terror, examines it, learns what it is; he knows 
the truth, and the truth has made him free. The other 
leaves it in mystery and unexplained vagueness, and is a 
slave for life to superstitious and indefinite terrors. Ro- 
mance, prettiness, " dim religious light," awe and mystery 
— these are not the atmosphere of Christ's gospel of liberty. 
Base the heart on facts. Truth alone makes free. 

The truth is infinite as the firmament above you. In 
childhood, both seem near and measurable; but with years 



224 ROBERTSON'S LIVIKG THOUGHTS. 

tliey grow and grow, and seem farther off, and farther and 
grander, and deeper and vaster, as God Himself; till you 
smile to remember how you thought you could touch the 
sky, and blush to recollect the proud and self-sufficient way 
in which you used to talk of knowing or preaching " the 
truth." 

And once again: the truth is made up of principles, — an 
inward life, not any mere formula of words. God's char- 
acter — spiritual worship — the Divine life in the soul. 
How shall I put that into sentences, ten or ten thousand? 
'' The words which I speak unto you, they are truth, and 
they are life^ How could Pilate's question be answered 
except by a life? The truth, then, which Pilate wanted — 
which you want, and I want — is not the boundless verities, 
but truth of inward life. Truth for me, — Truth enough to 
guide me in this darkling world, enough to teach me how 
to live and how to die. 

Now, the appointed ways to teach this Truth: they are 
three, — independence, humbleness, action. 

From the trial-hour of Christ — from the Cross of the 
Son of God — there arises the principle to which all His life 
bore witness, that the first lesson of Christian life is this. 
Be true; and the second this. Be true; and the third this, 
Be true. 

It seems to me that this feeling of vagueness is inevit- 
able when we dare to launch out upon the sea of truth. I 
remember that half-painful, half-sublime sensation in the 
first voyage I took out of sight of land when I was a boy ; 
when the old landmarks and horizon were gone, and I felt 
as if I had no home. It was a pain to find the world so 
large. By degrees the mind got familiarized to that feel- 
ing, and a joyful sense of freedom came. So I think it is 
with spiritual truth. It is a strangely desolate feeling to 
perceive that the "Truth" and the ''Gospel" that we have 
known were but a small home-farm in the great universe; 
but at last I think we begin to see sun, moon and stars as 
before, and to discover that we are not lost, but free, with a 
latitude and longitude as certain, and far grander than be- 
fore. 



UNITY. 225 

The condition of arriving at truth is not severe habits of 
investigation, but innocence of life and humbleness of 
heart. Truth is felt, not reasoned, out; and if there 
be any truths which are only appreciable by the acute 
understanding, we may be sure at once that these do not 
constitute the soul's life, nor error in these the souFs 
death. For instance, the metaphysics of God's Being; the 
^^ plan,'' as- they call it, "of salvation;" the exact distinc- 
tion between the Divine and human in Christ's Person. On 
all these subjects you may read and read till the brain is 
dizzy and the heart's action is stopped; so that of course the 
mind is bewildered. But on subjects of Right and Wrong, 
Divine and Diabolic, Noble and Base, I believe sophistry 
cannot puzzle so long as the life is right. 

It is an endless work to be uprooting weeds. Plant the 
ground with wholesome vegetation, and then the juices 
which would have otherwise fed rankness will pour them- 
selves into a more vigorous growth; the dwindled weeds 
will be easily raked out then. It is an endless task to be 
refuting error. Plant truth, and the error will pine away. 

He that is habituated to deceptions and artificialities in 
trifles will try in vain to be true in matters of importance; 
for truth is a thing of habit rather than of will. You can- 
not in any given case, by any sudden and single effort, will 
to be true if the habit of your life has been insincerity. 

Truth is given, not to be contemplated, but to be done. 
Life is an action — not a thought ; and the penalty paid by 
him who speculates on truth is that by degrees the very 
truth he holds becomes to him a falsehood. 

UNITY. 

I DISTINGUISH the unity of comprehensiveness from the 
unity of mere singularity. The word one, as oneness, is an 
ambiguous word. There is a oneness belonging to the army 
as well as to every soldier in the army. The army is one, 
and that is the oneness of unity; the soldier is one, but that 
is the oneness of the unit. There is a diflFerence between 



226 ROBERTSON'S LIYIl^G THOUGHTS. 

the oneness of a body and the oneness of a member of that 
body. The body is many, and a unity of manifold compre- 
hensiveness. An arm or a member of a body is one, but 
that is the unity of singularity. Without unity, my Chris- 
tian brethren, peace must be impossible. There can be no 
peace in the one single soldier of an army. You do not 
speak of the harmony of one member of a body. There is 
peace in an army, or in a kingdom joined with other king- 
doms; there is harmony in a member united with other 
members. There is no peace in a unit; there is no possi- 
bility of the harmony of that which is but one in itself. In 
order to have peace you must have a higher unity, and 
therein consists the unity of God's own Being. The unity 
of God is the basis of the peace of God, — meaning, by the 
unity of God, the comprehensive manifoldness of God, and 
not merely the singularity in the number of God's Being. 

Theke is no discord between the powers and attributes of 
the mind of God; there is no discord between His justice 
and His love; there is no discord demanding some misera- 
ble expedient to unite them together, such as some theolo- 
gians imagined when they described the sacrifice and atone- 
ment of our Eedeemer by saying it is the clever expedient 
whereby God reconciles His justice with His love. God's 
justice and love are one. Infinite justice must be infinite 
love. Justice is but another sign of love. The infinite rest 
of the "/ am" of God arises out of the harmony of His at- 
tributes. 

We observe respecting this unity that it subsists be- 
tween things not similar or alike, but things dissimilar or 
unlike. There is no unity in the separate atoms of a sand- 
pit; they are things similar; there is an aggregate or collec- 
tion of them. Even if they be hardened in a mass they are 
not one, they do not form a unity: they are simply a mass. 
There is no unity in a flock of sheep; it is simply a repeti- 
tion of a number of things similar to each other. If you 
strike ofP from a thousand five hundred, or if you strike off 
nine hundred, there is nothing lost of unity, because there 
never was unity. A flock of one thousand or a flock of five 
is just as much a flock as any other number. 



WORKS. 227 

We are one in Christ — one family. Human blessedness 
is impossible except through union one with another. But 
union is impossible except in God. 

WORDS. 

I KNOW the value, and, in their place, the need of strong 
words. I know that the Redeemer used them : stronger 
and keener never fell from the lips of man. I am aware 
that our Reformers used coarse and vehement language, 
but we do not imbibe the Reformers' spirit by the mere 
adoption of the Reformers' language; nay, paradoxical as it 
may seem, the use of their language even proves a degeneracy 
from their spirit. 

There is a solemn power in words, because words are the 
expression of character. " By thy words thou shalt be justi- 
fied, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned." 

WORKS. 

Under no circumstances, whether of pain, or grief, or 
disappointment, or irreparable mistake, can it be true that 
there is not something to be done^ as well as something to 
be suffered. And thus it is that the spirit of Christianity 
draws over our life, not a leaden cloud of remorse and des- 
pondency, but a sky, not perhaps of radiant, but yet of 
most serene and chastened and manly hope. There is a 
past which is gone forever, but there is a future which is 
still our own. 

Suppose I say "A tree cannot be struck without thun- 
der," that is true, for there is never destructive lightning 
without thunder. But, again, if I say " The tree was struck 
by lightning without thunder," that is true, too, if I mean 
that the lightning alone struck it, without the thunder 
striking it. Yet read the two assertions together and they 
seem contradictory. So, in the same way, St. Paul says, 
" Faith justifies without works"; that is, faith only is that 
which justifies us, not works. But St. James says, '' Not a 
faith which is without works." There will be works with 



228 eobertson's liyiitg thoughts. 

faith, as there is thunder with lightning; but just as it is 
not the thunder but the lightning, the lightning without 
the thunder, that strikes the tree, so it is not the works 
which justify. Put it in one sentence: Faith alone justifies, 
but not the faith which is alone. Lightning alone strikes, 
but not the lightning which is alone without thunder; for 
that is only summer lightning, and harmless. You w^ill 
see that there is an ambiguity in the words 'Svithout and 
alone," and the two apostles use them in different senses, 
just as I have used them in the above simile about the 
liofhtnincr. 

All this will be more plain if you consider what faith is. 

A STUDENT of medicine, listening to a clinical lecture by 
the bedside of a patient, learns a great deal about muscles, 
nerves, and names; but I fancy a feeble attempt in great 
pain to stagger across the floor of the hospital teaches more 
of the practice of health and use of the muscles than all the 
clinical lectures in the world. Crutches are capital for loco- 
motion, but for strengthening the limb w^iich they save 
from the ground, until its bulk becomes flaccid, not very 
capital, I guess. No; rely upon it, the spiritual life is not 
knowing, nor hearing, but doing. We only know so far as 
we can do; we learn to do by doing, and we learn to know 
by doing: what we do truly, rightly, in the way of duty, 
that, and only that, we are. Sermons are crutches, — I be- 
lieve often the worst things for spiritual health that ever 
were invented. 

A VERY pregnant lesson. Life passes, work is perma- 
nent. It is all going — fleeting and withering. Youth 
goes. Mind decays. That which is done remains. Through 
ages, through eternity, what you have done for God, that, 
and that only, you are. Ye that are workers, and count it 
the soul's worst disgrace to feel life passing in idleness and 
uselessness, take courage. Deeds never die. 

Be up and doing — fill up every hour, leaving no crevice 
or craving for a remorse, or a repentance to creep through 
afterward. Let not the mind brood on self: save it from 
speculation, — from those stagnant moments in which the 



WORLD. 229 

awful teachings of the spirit grope into the unfathomable 
unknown, and the heart torments itself with questions 
which are insoluble except to an active life. For the awful 
Future becomes intelligible only in the light of a felt and 
active Present. Go, return on thy way if thou art despond- 
ing — on thij ivay health of spirit will return. 

ThePwE is something sacred in work. To work in the 
appointed sphere is to be religious — as religious as to pray. 
This is not the forbidden world. 

WORLD. 

The visible world presents a different aspect to each in- 
dividual man. You will say that the same things you see 
are seen by all, — that the forest, the valley, the flood, and 
the sea, are the same to all; and yet all these things so 
seen, to different minds are a m3a^iad of different universes. 
One man sees in that noble river an emblem of eternity; he 
closes his lips and feels that God is there. Another sees 
nothing in it but a very convenient road for transporting 
his spices, silks and merchandise. To one this world ap- 
pears useful, to another beautiful. Whence comes the dif- 
ference? From the soul within us. It can make of this 
world a vast chaos— "a mighty maze without a plan;" or 
a mere machine — a collection of lifeless forces ; or it can 
make it the living vesture of God, the tissue through which 
He can become visible to us. In the spirt in w4iich we look 
on it the world is an arena for mere self-advancement, or a 
place for noble deeds, in which self is forgotten and God is 
all. 

The world you complain of as impure and wrong is not 
God's world, but your world; the blight, the dullness, the 
blank, are all your own. The light which is in you has 
become darkness, and therefore the light itself is dark. 

The legislator prohibits crime; the moralist, transgres- 
sion ; the religionist, sin. To these Christianity superadds a 
new enemy — the world and the things of the world. " If 
any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him." 



230 ROBERTSON'S LIVING THOUGHTS. 

Measure all by the Cross. Do you want success? The 
Cross is failure. Do you want a name? The Cross is in- 
famy. Is it to be gay and happy that you live? The Cross 
is pain and sharpness. Do you live that the will of God 
may be done in you and by you in life and death? Then, 
and only then, the Spirit of the Cross is in you. When 
once a man has learned that, the power of the world is 
gone; and no man need bid him, in denunciation or in in- 
vitation, not to love the world. He cannot love the world: 
for he has got an ambition above the world. He has planted 
his foot upon the Rock, and when all else is gone, he at 
least abides forever. 

WORLDLINESS. 

The shallow ground was stony ground. And it is among 
the children of light enjoyment and unsettled life that we 
must look for stony heartlessness: not in the world of busi- 
ness, not among the poor, crushed to the earth by privation 
and suffering. These harden the character, but often leave 
the heart soft. If you wish to know what hollowness and 
heartlessless are, you must seek for them in the world 
of light, elegant, superficial fashion, where frivolity has 
turned the heart into a rockbed of selfishness. Say what 
men will of the heartlessness of trade, it is nothing com- 
pared with the heartlessness of fashion. Say what they will 
of the atheism of science, it is nothing to the atheism of 
that round of pleasure in which many a heart lives, — dead 
while it lives. 

A QUARREL had arisen between Abraham's herdsmen and 
Lot's. It was necessary to part. Abraham, in that noble 
way of his, gave him the choice of the country when they 
separated. Either hand for Abraham, — either the right 
hand or the left: — what cared the Pilgrim of the Invisible 
for fertile lands or rugged sands? Lot chose wisely, as they 
of the world speak. Well, if this world be all: — he got a 
rich soil, became a prince, had kings for his society and 
neighbors. It was nothing to Lot that "the men of the 
land were sinners before the Lord exceedingly," — enough 
that it was well watered everywhere. But his wife became 



worldli:n'ess. 231 

enervated by voluptuousness, and his children tainted with 
ineradicable corruption, — the moral miasma of the society 
wherein he had made his home. Two warnings God gave 
him: first, his home and property were spoiled by the 
enemy; then came the fire from heaven, and he fled from 
the cities of the plain a ruined man. His wife looked back 
with lingering regret upon the splendid home of her luxury 
and voluptuousness, and was overwhelmed in the encrusting 
salt. His children carried with them into a new world the 
plague-spot of that profligacy which had been the child of 
affluence and idleness. 

It is strange how the harass of perpetual occupation 
shuts God out. It is strange how much mingling with the 
world, politics, and those things which belong to advancing 
civilization — things which are very often in the way of our 
duty — deaden the delicate sense of right and wrong. Let 
Christians be on their guard by double prayerfulness when 
duty makes them men of business, or calls them to posts of 
worldly activity. 

WoRLDLiNESs, then, consists in these three things, — at- 
tachment to the Outward, attachment to the Transitory, 
attachment to the Unreal: in opposition to love for the In- 
ward, the Eternal, the True: and the one of these affections 
is necessarily expelled by the other. If a man love the 
world, the love of the Father is not in him ; but let a man 
once feel the power of the kingdom that is within, and then 
the love fades of that emotion whose life consists only in 
the thrill of a nerve or the vivid sensation of a feeling: he 
loses his happiness and wins his blessedness. Let a man get 
but one glimpse of the King in His beauty, and then the 
forms and shapes of things here are to him but the types of 
an invisible loveliness, — types which he is content should 
break and fade. Let but a man feel truth, — that goodness 
is greatness, that there is no other greatness, — and then 
the degrading reverence with which the titled of this world 
bow before wealth, and the ostentation with which the rich 
of this world profess their familiarity with title: — all the 
pride of life, what is it to him? The love of the Inward — 



232 Robertson's living thoughts. 

Everlasting, Real — the love, that is, of the Father, — anni- 
hilates the love of the world. 

They who know the world of fashion tell us that the 
tone adopted there is, either to be, or to affect to be, sated 
with enjoyment, to be proof against surprise, to have lost 
all keenness of enjoyment, and to have all keenness of won- 
der gone. That which ought to be men's shame becomes 
their boast — unsusceptibility of any fresh emotion. 

WORSHIP. 

There is a stage of worship prior to that of man-worship. 
Man finds himself helpless among the powers of nature, and 
worships the forces themselves which he finds around him. 
This takes different forms. The highest is the worship of 
that host of heaven from which Job professed himself to be 
free. With some it is the adoration of lifeless things: the 
oak which has been made sacred by the lightning-stroke; 
the ''meteoric stone'' which fell down from Jupiter. So 
the Israelites adored the brazen serpent, with which power 
had once been in connection. Evidently there can be no 
holy influence in this. Men worship them by fear, fortify 
themselves by charms and incantations, — do not try to please 
God by being holy, but defend themselves from danger by 
jugglery. The Christians of the early ages carried about 
bits of consecrated bread to protect themselves from ship- 
wreck. 

Besides this, men have worshiped brute life — some ani- 
mal, exhibiting a limited quality, which is yet reckoned a 
type of the Divine. The hawk-eyed deities of Egypt, for 
instance, implied omniscience. Beast-worship was that of 
Egypt. Israel learned it there, and in an early stage of 
their history imitated the highest form which they knew, 
that of Apis, in their golden calf. 

Worship must have a form. Adoration finds a person, 
and if it cannot find one it will imagine one. Gentleness 
and purity are words for a philosopher; but a man whose 
heart wants something to adore will find for himself a gentle 
one^ a pure one, incarnate purity and love, gentleness robed 



WOMAK. 233 

in flesh and blood, before whom his knee may bend, and to 
whom the homage of his spirit can be given. You cannot 
adore except a person. 

WOMAN. 

There are two rocks in this world of ours on which the 
soul must either anchor or be wrecked. The one is God; 
the other is the sex opposite to itself. The one is the " Rock 
of Ages," on which if the human soul anchors it lives the 
blessed life of faith; against which if the soul be dashed and 
broken there ensues the wreck of Atheism — the worst ruin 
of the soul. The other rock is of another character. Blessed 
is the man, blessed is the wornan, whose life-experience has 
taught a confiding belief in the excellencies of the sex oppo- 
site to their own — a blessedness second only to the blessed- 
ness of salvation; and the ruin in the other case is second 
only to the ruin of everlasting perdition — the same wreck 
and ruin of the soul. 

A man's idolatry is for an idea, a woman's is for a per- 
son. A man suffers for a monarchy, a woman for a king. 
A man's martyrdom differs from a woman's. Nay, even in 
their religion, personality marks the one, attachment to an 
idea or principle the other. Woman adores God in His per- 
sonality, man adores Him in His attributes. At least that 
is, on the whole, the characteristic difference. 

And this is the glory of womanhood, — surely no common 
glory! — surely one which, if she rightly comprehended her 
place on earth, might enable her to accept its apparent hu- 
miliation unrepiningly; the glory of unsensualizing coarse 
and common things, sensual things, the objects of mere 
sense, meat and drink and household cares, elevating them, 
by the spirit in which she ministers them, into something 
transfigured and sublime. 

The humblest mother of a poor family, who is cumbered 
with much serving or watching over a hospitality which she 
is too poor to delegate to others, or toiling for love's sake in 
household work, needs no emancipation in God's sight. It 
is the prerogative and the glory of her womanhood to con- 
10* 



234 ROBERTSOTsr'S LIVIITG THOUGHTS. 

secrate the meanest things by a ministry which is not for 
self. 

Think we that there is no meaning hidden in the mys- 
tery that the Son of God was the Virgin's Son? To Him 
through life there remained the early recollections of a pure 
mother. Blessed beyond all common blessedness is the man 
who can look back to that. God has given to him a talis- 
man which will carry him triumphant through many a 
temptation. 

Before Christ the qualities honored as Divine were pe- 
culiarly the virtues of the man, — courage, wisdom, truth, 
strength. But Christ proclaimed the Divine nature of 
qualities entirely opposite, — meekness, obedience, affection, 
purity. He said that the pure in heart should see God. 
He pronounced the beatitudes of meekness, and lowliness, 
and poverty of spirit. Now, observe these were all of the 
order of graces which are distinctively feminine. And it 
is the peculiar feature of Christianity that it exalts not 
strength nor intellect, but gentleness, and lovingness, and 
virgin purity. 

The glory of true womanhood consists in being Jierself: 
not in striving to be something else. It is the false paradox 
and heresy of this present age to claim for her as a glory 
the right to leave her sphere. Her glory lies in her sphere, 
and God has given her a sphere distinct; as in the Epistle 
to the Church of Corinth, when in that wise chapter St. Paul 
rendered unto womanhood the things which were woman's, 
and unto manhood the things which were man's. 

YOUTH. 

There is a moment in every true life — to some it comes 
very early — when the old routine of duty is not large 
enough, — when the parental roof seems too low, because 
the Infinite above is arching over the soul, — when the old 
formulas in creeds, catechisms, and articles seem to be nar- 
row, and they must either be thrown aside or else trans- 
formed into living and breathing realities, — when the 



YOUTH. 235 

earthly father's authority is being superseded by the claims 
of a Father in heaven. 

That is a lonely, lonely moment, when the young soul 
first feels God, — when this earth is recognized as an " awful 
place, yea, the very gate of heaven," — when the dream-ladder 
is seen planted against the skies, and we wake, and the 
dream haunts us as a sublime reality. 

You may detect the approach of that moment in the 
young man or the young woman by the awakened spirit of 
inquiry, — by a certain restlessness of look, and an eager 
earnestness of tone. 

The young are by God's providence exempted in a great 
measure from anxiety: they are as the apostles were in re- 
lation to their Master: their friends stand between them 
and the struggles of existence. They are not called upon 
to think for themselves, the burden is borne by others. 
They get their bread without knowing or caring how it is 
paid for; they smile and laugh without a suspicion of the 
anxious thoughts of day and night which a parent bears to 
enable them to smile. So to speak, they are sleeping — and 
it is not a guilty sleep — while another watches. 

My young brethren, youth is one of the precious oppor- 
tunities of life, rich in blessing if you choose to make it so, 
but having in it the materials of undying remorse if you 
suffer it to pass unimproved. Your quiet Gethsemane is 
now. Gethsemane's struggles you cannot know yet. Take 
care that you do not learn too well Gethsemane's sleep. Do 
you know how you can imitate the apostles in their fatal 
sleep? You can suffer your young days to pass idly and 
uselessly away; you can live as if you had nothing to do 
but to enjoy yourselves; you can let others think for you, 
and not try to become thoughtful yourselves; till the busi- 
ness and the difficulties of life come upon you unprepared, 
and you find yourselves like men waking from sleep, hur- 
ried, confused, scarcely able to stand, with all the faculties 
bewildered, not knowing right from wrong, led headlong to 
evil, just because you have not given yourselves in time to 
learn what is good. All that is sleep. 

There is something in earthly rapture which cloys, and 
when we drink deep of pleasure, there is left behind some- 



236 Robertson's living thoughts. 

thing of that loathing which follows a repast on sweets. 
When a boy sets out in life, it is all fresh, — freshness in 
feeling, zest in his enjoyment, purity in his heart. Cherish 
that, my young brethren, while you can; lose it, and it 
never comes again. It is not an easy thing to cherish it, 
for it demands restraint in pleasure, and no young heart 
loves that. Religion has only calm, sober, perhaps monoto- 
nous, pleasures to offer at first; the deep rapture of enjoy- 
ment comes in after-life, and that will not satisfy the 
young heart. Men will know what pleasure is, and they 
drink deep. Keen delight, feverish enjoyment, — that is 
what you long for; and these emotions lose their delicacy 
and their relish, and will only come at the bidding of gross 
excitements. The ecstasy which once rose to the sight of 
the rainbow in the sky, or the bright brook, or the fresh 
morning, comes languidly at last only in the crowded mid- 
night room, or the excitement of commercial speculation, 
or beside the gaming-table, or amidst the fever of politics. 

Let the young be happy. Health, spirits, youth, society, 
accomplishments, — let them enjoy these, and thank God 
with no misgiving. Let there be no half-remorseful sensa- 
tions, as though they were stolen joys. Christ had no sym- 
pathy with that tone of mind which scowls on human happi- 
ness: His first manifestation of power was at a marriage 
feast. Who would check the swallow's flight, or silence the 
gush of happy melody which the thrush pours forth in 
spring ? 

And therefore, my young brethren, let it be impressed 
upon you, — NOW is a time, infinite in its value for eter- 
nity, which will never return again. Sleep not: learn that 
there is a very solemn work of heart which must be done 
while the stillness of the garden of your Gethsemane gives 
you time. Now — or Never. 

The treasures at your command are infinite, — treasures 
of time, treasures of youth, treasures of opportunity, that 
grown-up men would sacrifice everything they have to pos- 
sess. Oh, for ten years of youth back again with the added 
experience of age! But it cannot be, they must be content 
to sleep on now and take their rest. 



AITALYTIOAL IITDEX. 



Atonement — Its relation to Christianity 










13 


Its true signiticance .... 








13 


A manifestation of God's life 










13 


A loving sacrifice .... 










14 


Its repetition in the Christian's life . 




• 






14 


A means of reconciling man to duty 










14 


A surrender of self 










15 


Viewed from different standpoints 










15 


Illustrations of it in Nature 










15 


Not a sacrifice under wrath 










16 


Its effects on Christ and on the sinner 










16 


A mirror of God's love 










. 16 


A voluntary sacrifice . 










. 17 


Suffering under imputed sin 










. 17 


Its only proof in Scripture . 










17 


A declaration of God's law . 










17 


A reconciliation .... 










17 


In and through Christ . 










lb 


A completed w^ork 










18 


A sacrifice of obedience 










18 


A sacrifice for human guilt . 










18 


Baptism — Its significance . . 










19 


A symbol of regeneration . 










19 


A visible representation of truth . 










19 


Bible — Its universal teaching . 










19 


Its central teaching, Christ . 










20 


Its inspiration 










21 


Body — Its mysteriousness 










22 


Sins against it 




• 






22 



237 



238 ANALYTICAL INDEX. 

Change — Everywhere visible 23 

In human life 23 

Its desirability 23 

Illustrations of it 23 

Unwise to mourn over it 24 

A result of progress . . ... . . .24 

Its solemnity 25 

Character — Superficiality of 25 

Strength of 26 

Tw^o sides of 26 

Silently expressed 26 

Mistaken by the worldly-wise 27 

Its strength in composure 27 

Its influence eternal 27 

Like and unlike attract 27 

Its reproductiveness 28 

Its delicacy and costliness . 28 

To be closely guarded 28 

A high type of 29 

Blemished 29 

Beautiful when pure 29 

Unaffected by circumstances 29 

Its commanding influence .29 

Everlasting 29 

Its perfect type in Christ 29 

Weakness of 30 

Meekness of 30 

Its high worth 80 

Seen in silence 30 

Gained by self-control 30 

Somewiiat affected by circumstances 30 

Duty to win a heavenly one 30 

Humility of 31 

Charity — Not universal 31 

Its absence in slander 31 

Not incompatible with justice 31 

Its rarity 31 

Not only in gifts 32 



ANALYTICAL INDEX. 239 

Its reflex influence 32 

Its reward 32 

Product of strong character 32 

Not costly but of priceless value 32 

In religion 32 

A spirit rather than an action 32 

Its beneficial eftect 33 

The absence chilling 33 

Toward error in thought 33 

Illustrated in St. Paul 33 

Childhood — Impressions upon -- 33 

Not sinless 34 

Viewed in Christ 34 

Christ — In the Bible 34 

To be loved 34 

The glory of His work 36 

More than a perfect man 30 

His infinite love 36 

The center of the universe 36 

A sovereign and guide 37 

The focal point of Scripture 37 

God's expression of love 38 

His teachings appeal to the heart 38 

An incarnation of human perfection 39 

His universal nature 39 

His human heart 39 

His personal aff*ection 40 

A restoration for man of the Divine image ... 40 

A refuge from sin 40 

Man's cause His cause 41 

A specimen of perfect humanity 41 

His womanliness 41 

His manliness 42 

The great physician 42 

Restoring humanity 42 

His perception of the beautiful 43 

Before the Gospel-day .43 

The panacea for sin 43 



240 ANALYTICAL INDEX. 

The perfection of His humanity 43 

A human brother 44 

Our sacrifice 44 

The world's day of grace 44 

The human side of God's mind 44 

Human and Divine 44 

Perfectly free from sin 44 

The Christian's perfection 44 

His mental suffering 45 

The incarnation of holiness 45 

God in human limits 45 

The restorer of humanity 45 

The mediator between God and man 45 

Humanity's life and light 45 

His universal influence . * 45 

Humanity's only hope 46 

His life the Christian's law 46 

A victim to the world's sin * . 46 

Christian — A reflection of Christ 46 

His life in God 46 

His example among men 47 

Progress alone in Christ 47 

His character a delicate thing 48 

His life a march 48 

His example in Christ 48 

His life to be Christ-like 48 

His life a sacrifice 49 

Observed by the world 49 

A picture of Him 49 

Chhistianity — A spirit - 49 

Its doctrine 49 

Christ's expression 49 

Its revelations 50 

Its light 50 

Its truth 50 

Christ its life 51 

Its triumphs 51 

A law^ of love 52 



ANALYTICAL INDEX. 241 

Its leading principles 52 

Its testimony to immortality 52 

The eternal religion 53 

Its invigorating life 53 

A new spirit 53 

Its enemies and its victories 54 

An internal germ 54 

A spiritual kingdom 54 

A revelation of love 54 

A law of obedience 54 

A reformation 54 

A regeneration 54 

Its influence on science 54 

Church — An educator 55 

Humanity's ideal 55 

Opposed by tlie world 55 

A representative of God 55 

Its glory during persecution 56 

Militant and triumphant 56 

Civilization — Its glory and its shame 56 

Surpassed by Christianity 56 

Confession — Its beneficial influence 56 

Conscience — Delicacy of it 57 

The world's and the Christian's 57 

The pain of violating it 58 

Its relation to self-sacrifice 58 

To be heeded 58 

A teacher of personal sin 58 

Its sacredness 59 

Wrongly educated 59 

Do no violence to it 59 

Bold in its demands 59 

Courage — In the Christian 59 

Illustrations of it 59 

Not stoicism 60 

Courtesy — Often in humble circles of life .... 60 



242 A^-ALYTICAL li^DEX. 

CovETOUSNESS — Its meaning 61 

Its advantages and disadvantages 61 

Cross — Central teaching of Christianity .... 61 

Our polar star % 61 

Christ's anguish on it 62 

Its Divine significance 63 

Christ's death on it not only physical .... 63 

Symbolic of humbleness and love 63 

Its law to be ours 63 

Liberty at its foot 63 

Death — Its solemnity 64 

Its loneliness . . .64 

The Christian's victory over it 64 

Its sadness 65 

A parting from something dear 66 

An irreversible fact in human experience .... 66 

But the end of a life 66 

Its lonesomeness ........ 66 

But few long for it 66 

In the guilty man's experience 67 

An entrance to a new life 67 

Eest after it 67 

The Christian's rest 67 

A preface to the resurrection 67 

How will it find us ? 68 

Earnestness — Its meaning 68 

Necessary to success 68 

Difficult to attain 68 

A voice urging it . . 69 

Education — Advantages of it . . , *^ » .69 

Should lead to God 69 

A powerful factor 69 

Noble types of it 70 

Different in kind 70 

In solitude 70 

Emotion — Tends toward simplicity and faith ... 70 

In religion 71 

Produced by heart contact 71 



ANALYTICAL IKDEX. 243 

Eternity — Its two aspects 71 

In relation to the soul 71 

Its idea indestructible 71 

Not distinct from time 71 

Meaningless apart from God 72 

Example — Not a model 72 

In Christ 73 

Excitement — Its value 73 

A reward of toil 73 

Faith — A stimulus to victory 74 

In religion and in the world 74 

A means of feeling God 74 

Its high aspirations 75 

Appropriating Christ 75 

Its fearlessness 76 

Productive of happiness 76 

In the Apostle Thomas ....... 76 

Directed toward God 76 

Difficult of realization 77 

Means of divine justification 77 

To be cheerful 77 

A daily exercise 77 

Feels the invisible 77 

Appropriates salvation 77 

A spirit of dependence 77 

Family — Its unity in diversity 78 

Its true life 79 

Built on affinities 79 

Forgiveness — The joy of it 79 

Its spirit in Christ 79 

Taught in scripture 79 

Sin needs it 80 

A new revelation by Christ 80 

Coupled with forgetfulness 80 

In God a remedy for sin 80 

Its spirit to be cultivated 80 



244 



Ai^ALYTICAL INDEX, 



God — An eternal Now 
His human attributes 
His universal presence 
His nearness to man . 
Insincerity shrivels before Him 
Not clearly seen by man 
Just, as well as loving 
An invisible spirit 
What He is not . 
Seen in nature . 
Human desire for Him 
His complete self everywhere 
His life a life of love 
His greatness and man's greatness 
Consecration to His service 
Known only by God-like souls 
Belief in His personality 
Sanctifies friendships 
Seeking man 
His glory ineffable 
A great Personal Cause 
His unfailing justice . 
The source of comfort 
His distinguishing attributes 
Dedication of self to Him . 
His service the great aim of life 

Happiness — Taught by nature 
Desire for it . . . 
Its true meaning 
Its bestowal costs but little 
Transfiguration moments . 

Home — Its love the alphabet of life 
A place of confidence 
A heavenly abode 
Its mighty influence . 

Humility — Not confined to any one class 
Illustrated by Christ .... 
Christ's earthly spirit 



ANALYTICAL INDEX. 245 

Not dependent on outward conditions .... 91 

Seen in earnest work 91 

Magnified in Christ 91 

Its worth in God's sight 91 

Ideals — Transcend actual life . . . . .* . 92 

True type in Christ . 92 

To be studied and followed 92 

Imagination — Different from reason 92 

Its pleasures 92 

Immortality — A universal hope ...... 93 

Not proved from nature . . . . . . .93 

A life of spirit 93 

• Taught by Christianity 94 

Not an inductive reasoning 95 

Its true idea 95 

The perfection of the imperfect 96 

Its proof in Christ alone 96 

An elevating conception 96 

A spiritual character 97 

Not in nature nor philosophy 97 

The soul's preparation for it 97 

The desire of the soul 97 

Enjoyed in rest and love 98 

Individuality — Each man a fresh new soul .... 98 

In nature and humanity 98 

Influence — Immortal 99 

A solemn thought 99 

The orator's 100 

Indirect and invisible 100 

Judgment -— From God 100 

Liberty — Its true conception 101 

Not freedom from resti'aints 102 

Not independence 102 

An internal spirit in the Christian 103 

The true sphere of the goul 103 



246 ANALYTICAL INDEX. 

A reverence for the God-like 103 

Mental 104 

Christian 104 

On the side of law .104 

Result of faith 104 

Found in love for God 104 

Developed by noble thought 104 

Life — Each man a new soul 104 

A deception 105 

Its true spirit love 105 

Dear to all 105 

Full of mistakes 105 

Its different phases . . . . . . . . 106 

An education 106 

Of the body and of the spirit 107 

A consecration to God 107 

Ever changing 107 

Mysterious 108 

Its highest aim ......... 108 

Each existence a new experience 109 

Sad phases of existence 109 

Its failure 110 

Patience in its work 110 

Moves on independent of man Ill 

Should be an existence of faith Ill 

Desultory and vain Ill 

To be spent conscientiously 112 

Three laws of it 112 

Dependent on mental state 112 

Its twofold aspects 112 

Made up of small things 113 

Its great problem 113 

Free-will in man 113 

An education for God 113 

Its acts of love 113 

Insensibility to its value 114 

Its spirit innate 114 

Humanity its true sphere 114 

A part of Christian character 114 



AN"ALYTICAL INDEX. 247 

Self-forgetfulness 115 

A means of attaining truth 115 

Divine love universal 115 

Self-producing 115 

Self-denying and generous 116 

The spirit of God 116 

Its effect on the intellect 117 

Full of sympathy 118 

Seen in the Cross 118 

A beautiful spectacle 118 

A habit 118 

The law of Christian life 118 

More than charity 118 

In the life of Christ 118 

Self-abnegation 118 

In the sacrifice of Christ 119 

Approved by Christ 119 

Its spirit taught by God 119 

A link between man and God 119 

Human and divine 119 

Its lofty sensation 119 

More precious than gifts 119 

The supreme Christian motive 120 

In Apostolic times 120 

The truth of life 121 

Exhortation to cultivate it 122 

Man — His kindred to God 122 

A dependent being 122 

A learner 123 

His capacities infinite 124 

His relation to God and man 124 

His greatness 124 

Ever unsatisfied with his w^ork 125 

His strength in weakness 125 

In middle age 126 

His weakness and his strength 126 

His relationship to God 127 

Marriage — Its sacredness 127 

Not always expedient 127 



248 Al^ALYTICAL INDEX. 

Meditation — Its advantages 128 

Its delights .128 

Beneficial 128 

Its two aspects 129 

Not a reverie 129 

Superior to conversation 129 

-Its stimulus to spiritual growth 129 

Ministry— To behold and fearless . . . . .130 

Its true reward . . . . . . . . . 130 

Its imperfections 130 

Its true dignity 131 

Not to seek worldly applause 131 

Its true success 131 

Should show no party spirit 132 

Its responsibility and its joy . . . .* . . 132 

To develop character 132 

Its true theme 132 

Its sphere 132 

Its deficiencies 133 

A service of trust and love . . . . . . 133 

Should stimulate thought 133 

Its true glory 133 

Morality — Not religion 133 

Compared with Christianity 134 

Not sufficient for eternity 134 

Nature — Its beauties 134 

Its grandeur and glory 134 

Its lesson 135 

A manifestation of Deity 136 

God's character visible in it 137 

A word of God 137 

Analogy between it and spirit 137 

Delight in it 138 

Should teach us truth 138 

Its refining effect on man 138 

Its spiritual teachings » 139 

A summer's night 139 

Its inspirations • . . 139 



ANALYTICAL li^DEX. 249 

An aurora 139 

Sensations of joy in its beauties 140 

God's miracles in it 140 

A lovely night 140 

A Symbol of God 140 

A channel of God's spirit 141 

Its beauties to the appreciative mind .... 141 

Should lead to God 141 

Obedience — Submission to law 141 

To a higher law than self 142 

A condition of God's revelation 142 

A condition of God's revelations 142 

The form oflove 142 

Old Age — Impressions deepen with it 143 

Without God 143 

Its sense of eternal things 143 

Clinging to life 144 

Insubmission to it . . 144 

In the Christian 144 

Its sad aspect 145 

Patience — Seen in God's works 145 

God's prerogative 146 

In Christ's life ... • 146 

Necessary to spiritual development 146 

To be exercised by the Christian 146 

Exhortation to its spirit 147 

Peace — Between opposites 147 

Its true spirit 147 

The Christian's privilege 148 

Not stagnation 148 

Human desire for it 149 

Conditioned on discharge of duty 149 

Its serenity and delights 149 

Penitence — Scriptural idea of it 150 

Sorrow toward God 150 

Its necessity to true religion 151 

God's favor toward its exercise 151 

Its Divine reward 152 



250 ANALYTICAL INDEX. 

Perfection — Not action, but spirit 152 

Two types of it in humanity 153 

The Christian's aim 153 

A human craving 154 

Should be always aimed at 154 

Not possible among men 154 

A hard duty to aim at 154 

To be approximated by degrees 154 

The great aspiration of the Christian .... 155 

Popularity — conditions of its attainment . . . .155 

Unsatisfactory 156 

No test of manhood 156 

Prayer — A necessity of humanity . . ^ . • . .156 

Its daily exercise 157 

A personal communication with God .... 157 

Its paradox 158 

Its true object 158 

Its abiding fruit 158 

Regeneration — Christianity's essential work . . . 158 

An internal conviction 158 

From the Cross 158 

The proof of adoption 159 

Not in morality 159 

Necessary to eternal life 159 

Religion — Its saving truth not in nature' .... 160 

Comprehended by obedience 160 

God its chief object 161 

Freewill in adopting it 161 

Its holy mission 162 

More than intellectual conceptions ..... 163 

As taught by Christ 163 

Its true light from Christ 164 

The sad fruits of its absence 164 

Its power over the life of man 164 

It universal claim on man 165 

Its everlasting treasures 165 

Its true idea 165 

In what it consists 166 



AJ^TALYTICAL INDEX. 251 

Different from morality 166 

Its truth felt and loved 166 

Its inward sensations 166 

Delay in attending to it 167 

Meditation upon it 167 

The higher life of man 167 

Remorse — Its pernicious consequences 167 

Hell on earth 168 

To be guarded against 168 

Responsibility — Individual 169 

Implied in freedom 169 

Rest — Different kinds 169 

Man's deepest want 169 

At eventide 170 

Resurrection — A pressing question 170 

Analogies of it 171 

Symbols of it 171 

Ancient hope in regard to it 172 

A Christian doctrine 172 

No proof of it in nature 173 

Retribution — Its meaning 173 

Different aspects of it 174 

Basis of all natural religion 175 

Its sting in the soul 175 

A universal law 175 

In the hereafter . . 175 

Revelation — God's, not by visible demonstration . . 176 

No teaching of science 176 

Alone in the Word of God 176 

Gradually imparted 177 

Reverence — An innate impulse in man 177 

Reward — Not the noblest incentive 177 

A universal product of industry 177 

An incentive to the Christian 178 

Its law divine and natural 178 



252 A^-ALYTICAL INDEX.^ 

Sabbath — Its necessity 179 

Its different aspects 180 

Its law indestructible 180 

Its physical basis 180 

Skepticism — A reaction from superstition .... 181 

Unsatisfactory 181 

In reference to the resurrection 181 

Its creed . . 182 

No manly thing . . . 183 

Tends to enervate man 183 

Against human instincts 184 

False ideas of it 184 

Its panacea, faith 186 

Its immorality 186 

Its gloomy doubts 187 

And credulity 188 

In atheism 188 

Silence — Its advantage 188 

Sin— An awful fact . 188 

In the soul • . . . 188 

Its true nature 189 

An analysis of it 189 

Its eternity 190 

In the motive 190 

Not of God 190 

Christ its victim 191 

How to estimate it 191 

Humanity's worst burden 191 

In its consequences 192 

Its hardening effects 192 

An individual thing . . . . • . . .193 

Its tenacity on man 193 

Everywhere 193 

Some men's only life . . 194 

Man's chief foe 194 

Different from transgression 194 

Its grovelling character 194 

Its seat, the heart 195 



ANALYTICAL Iiq-DEX. 253 

None in Christ 195 

Detestable 195 

A stepping-stone to heaven 195 

Two classes of it 195 

As revealed in God's sight 195 

Sincerity — Unconscious 195 

In the Christian's life 196 

Slander — How uttered 196 

Its eternal consequences 196 

Against God 196 

Love its only remedy 197 

Against true character 197 

Even against Christ 197 

Society — Its blessings 197 

Wrongly condemned 197 

Gifts in its circle 198 

Christ sanctioned it 198 

Christ's attendance upon it 199 

Christ's commendation of it 200 

To be highly regarded 200 

Solitude — Its benefits 200 

Christ's 200 

Two aspects of it . 201 

Christ alone in death 201 

Sorrow — As seen in anxiety 202 

The undertone of the world 202 

Product of sin 202 

Its glory 202 

In its genuineness 203 

Advantageous to the spirit 203 

In bereavement 204 

A fertilizer 204 

The inheritance of the Christian 204 

In Christ's life 205 

Its true nature 205 

Its remedy in Christ 205 



254 ANALYTICAL IKDEX. 

In diflferent natures 205 

Necessary to salvation 205 

Eesult of inattentiveness 205 

Superstition — Reaction from skepticism .... 206 

In different phases 206 

Susceptibility — In different persons 206 

To divine truth 207 

Sympathy— In Christ . .207 

In Christ's teaching 208 

From Christ 209 

Extended by Christianity 209 

In Christ's work 210 

Its true idea 210 

Impersonated by Christ 210 

In affectionate natures 211 

In God's government 211 

Its power in society 212 

A relief to the soul 212 

Its necessity 212 

In Christ's being 212 

In Christ's life 213 

Christ man's pattern of it 213 

Means of human salvation 213 

Temptation — In Adam 213 

Universal 214 

Its advantages . . 214 

Different phases of it 214 

Christ's experience of it 215 

To be shrunk from 215 

Necessary to sympathy 215 

Time — Its solemnity 216 

Man's inheritance 216 

Rapidly passing 217 

Tongue — Impossible to control 218 

Its calumny 218 



ANALYTICAL INDEX. 255 

Trials — Universal 218 

Symbols of them 218 

Sent in love 219 

•The Christian's share 219 

God the only refuge from them 219 

Show the blessedness of peace 220 

In their burdensomeness 220 

Painful 220 

Lead to Christ 221 

Sent of God 221 

Sent for good , . . 221 

Trinity — Not to be doubted . 222 

Illustrated 222 

Exemplified 228 

Truth — Its cultivation 223 

Infinite 223 

In Christ's life 224 

To be searched 224 

To be mastered 225 

Against error 225 

"In small affairs 225 

To be lived 225 

Unity — Different aspects of it 225 

In God 226 

Between things dissimilar 22G 

In Christ 227 

Words— Their value 227 

Their power 227 

Works — Always to be done 227 

With faith 227 

Develop talent 228 

Everlasting in effect 228 

Exhortation to them 228 

Their sacredness 229 

World — Its different aspects 229 

In itself pm-e 229 



256 ANALYTICAL INDEX. 

Forbidden by Christianity 229 

To be measured by the Cross o 230 

WoRLDLiNESS — Superficial 230 

Its disadvantages . . » 230 

Shuts out God 231 

In what it consists 231 

Its unsatisfactoiy nature 232 

Worship — Man's innate impulse 232 

Must have form ....•.•.. 232 

Woman — Her influence 233 

Her idolatry 233 

Her glory 233 

Honored by Christ 234 

Exalted by Christianity 234 

Her highest honor 234 

Youth — A critical period . 234 

Its delights 235 

Its pleasures ephemeral 235 

Should be a period of happiness . , . . . 236 

An appeal to its possessors 236 



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